


I Lost My Wallet

by Ellectrix



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Banter, Consensual Sex, Dating, Depressing, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Dissociation, Drama & Romance, Emotional Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Get ready to be sad, Getting to Know Each Other, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Prostitution, life is fucking depressing, sorry bout that :")
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellectrix/pseuds/Ellectrix
Summary: Who the fuck blows thousands of dollars on a city-wide search just to find the mysterious guy you had hit on and ended up getting a (fucking amazing by the way) blowjob from at the back of your favourite night club on your twenty fourth birthday only to realize the next morning that the fucker actually stole your wallet and your phone while you were too busy being a drunk as fuck dumbass basking in his undeserved orgasm high?You, apparently. You're the dumbass. It is you.





	1. I Lost My Wallet To The Stranger That Gave Me A Blowjob

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill ppl. Comment if you see anything errors or mistakes. Thank you for taking the time to pick this shitty piece of fiction up, I hope you're ready for the ride.
> 
> Again, I probably won't have a set date to update this shit, but I will try to update as much as I can. So, enjoy ya filthy fuckers and I'll see you in hell.

Bright blinding light is the first thing you notice. And then a splitting headache like someone just took an axe to the back of your head makes itself known. You hear yourself groan in agony and then the bright light suddenly moves away from your eyes. You then find yourself blinking blearily up at a grey ceiling, feeling your senses slowly return to you.

Soft leather creaks under you as you tried to sit yourself up, only to give up on that endeavour when the pain in your head tripled, white spots covering your vision for a moment. “How many times are you going to do this before you get it inside that thick skull of yours that that was a bad idea? I know it was your birthday, but that doesn't excuse you from getting black out drunk. Especially when you do it even when it _isn't_ your birthday.”

The voice comes from your right, sounding authoritative. But her statement was followed by a sigh of disappointment. You then hear fading clicking of heels on linoleum floor while you continued to blink rapidly, trying to get your vision to focus.

“Every time you do this, you always end up like this. I’m getting tired of hauling your ass back to your penthouse before the press finds you slumped over at a back alleyway of a club, heavily hungover.” The voice returns along with the clicking of heels only to stop right beside you. “Open your mouth.” She ordered more than asked.

Seems like you've got no choice in this situation, considering how fucking helpless you are with this goddamn headache, so you just followed the female's demand. You feel two capsules shoved down your mouth and you cough as you downed it dry. Fuck.

A slim face framed by perfectly styled blonde hair pops into your vision, her flawless dark winged eyeliner accentuating her violet piercing gaze. You swat her face away and tried to sit up again, having more success this time. Looks like the painkillers she gave you is kicking in fast, fortunately for you. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Dave?”

You simply groaned, pressing the heels of your hand into the bridge of your nose while you used your other hand to flip her off. She grabs your ear and twists it painfully. “Ow, _ow,_ fuck! Alright! I'm fucking sorry. Will you leave me the fuck alone? You're usually gone at this point, what the hell are you still doing here?”

The blonde woman huffs, crossing her arms. “Because you fucked up more than usual, Strider.”

You continued to rub your temples, as the headache slowly subsided to just a dull ache. “What? Everything I do is a fuck up to you, Rose.”

Rose lets out another audible sigh. You're sure it's supposed to make you feel bad, but you're used to your sister's bullshit at this point. Nice try, Lalonde. “Check your pockets.” She said simply.

You glanced her way with narrowed eyes. She tosses you your black blazer as well. You scoff and decide to just play along so you can get her out of here as fast as you can.

You pad along your pockets, unsure what you're looking for since all of them are empty.

All of them are empty.

_Fucking shit._

You grabbed your blazer to feel along the pockets of it only to come out empty handed. “ _Shit_.” You mutter to yourself as the reality finally hits you. You groaned, covering your face and dragging it down. You hate it when your sister is right. She's as much of a smug asshole as you are when it comes to being right about things.

“Now. Can you tell me what the hell you did last night to have lost both your phone and your wallet?” She questioned, taking a seat beside you on your grey leather couch, crossing her legs. She's wearing jeans and a pastel green blouse, much less glamorous than what she usually wears, considering she’s dating an up and coming fashion designer.

You continued to close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. You really did fuck up this time. “I don't fucking know? I was drunk as fuck last night, you know that, why the hell would you even think I'd remember anything from last-”

Rose raised a brow at your sudden pause of your own rambling. You stare wide-eyed at the linoleum floor covered by a brown fur rug. Spotty memories of last night come back to you. How could you ever forget those steely silver eyes? Eyes that made you feel naked despite being in the relative safety of your aviators?

“You do remember something. Care to tell me, brother?” She pried further, using that _word_ to guilt you into talking. It's the only thing in her repertoire that still works on you.

With an exasperated sigh, you leaned back on the couch, staring back at the ceiling. Your fingers drummed a random rhythm on your thigh as you told her what you can remember of last night.

 

* * *

 

The loud bass music thrummed in time with the beat of your own heart. Or is it the other way around? Either way, it sends pleasant vibrations through your body, heightening the effects the alcohol was already doing to you.

You're laughing and having fun, dancing along with the crowd, pretty girls pressing themselves close to you. You know you could do better with the music around the club, but that's none of your concern at the moment. At the moment, you have no concerns at all. It was _your_ night. _Your_ night to unwind from the daily stresses of your job and escape for the time being.

It was _your_ birthday.

After dancing with pretty girls and exchanging saliva and numbers with them, you had stepped out from the pulsing dance floor to grab another drink.

You approached the bar, greeting the bartender that you had come to know over time from visiting in this particular club often. You didn't have to say anything when you took a seat on the stool, the bartender and you simply nodding in acknowledgement.

At the time, you had simply looked out to the crowded club, neon lights roving all around the room erratically. The chatter of the people inside was dulled when you're up on the bars and thankfully, not as many people had come up to you because of your career. You came here to forget about it. You'd really rather not think about work at any time this night.

You think you saw Rose and her girlfriend disappear into the bathrooms at some point. Probably to bail out, but that's fine. From your vantage point on the second floor, you can see Jade's bright green sequined dress flash amongst the crowd. Looks like she's having fun with her dance partner. Five years ago, that would've made your stomach drop out from under you, but you've gotten over your shitty high school crush.

You turned your attention to the short glass of bourbon the bartender had slipped to your side. You give him an appreciative nod and he returns it with a small smile. Actually, he's not all that bad looking, with fair skin and long black lashes that reminds you sort of like John... You'd take him home for the night. But. He's too young for your taste. You're twenty-six and Ben just turned nineteen recently.

After taking a sip from your drink, relishing in the bitter taste and the burn it brings to your throat, you continue your observation of the place. You've practically memorized everything about this place and you’ve befriended some of the people who also frequent this club. Some of them being surprisingly influential and useful to you. But that’s just a pleasant bonus to you.

You hadn't really paid attention to the other drinkers beside you, mostly because it's actually fairly sparse at the moment. Most had already gotten themselves blackout drunk earlier in the night and are just loosening up on the dancefloor.

But a few seem like they're just there because they were dragged in by some other friend, sitting around alone and sipping drinks.

None of them were of much interest to you.

Except for a short guy sitting at the very end of the bar, flush against the wall. You’re sitting in the middle, not all that far away and you've still got some consciousness in you to notice a few things about him.

First of all, he's fucking short. Too short to be in an adult club like this and at first glance, you'd think he was a teenager that just snuck in past the bouncer. But the way he held himself, hunched over and sipping his drink, told you that he's done this multiple times before. He had wild night black hair that just stuck up everywhere and the way he runs his slim fingers through his it told you that he didn’t really give a single shit about how it looked. He wore a ratty, used black hoodie and a dark washed baggy jeans and it's clear that he's trying to seem inconspicuous and disappear into the dim lighting of the club.

But when he raised his eyes, meeting yours across the bar counter, it's hard for anyone to ignore him.

Hard steel grey gaze that held your own, under bushy eyebrows pulled into a scowl. You can't forget that single moment your eyes met, as if he could see through the plastic hiding your eyes. His gaze demanded attention and it was magnetic, bringing you closer to him.

You downed the rest of your drink and thanked Ben for his service after paying. Then, you unbuttoned the first two buttons of your black shirt before stepping off the stool and swaggering your way to the end of the bar. You see him roll his eyes as you got closer, already anticipating your company. You take a seat beside him, turning it around to face away from the bar and leaned back, resting your elbows up on the counter.

“Let's just get this over with and tell me one of the shitty generic pick up lines you use when you find someone at the bar who _clearly_ wants to be alone so I can tell you to fuck off. Actually, you know what? Before I have to suffer through whatever mind-numbing fuckboy bullshit you're about to spew from your face gnash, I'm telling you right now. Fuck. Off.” His voice was low, but loud at the same time, a raspy quality you really find attractive. You're already wondering what he'd sound like making other noises. You'd really love to know, actually.

You ran a hand through your hair, more so a casual way to look sexy without trying rather than really fixing your hair. “Damn, that's one hell of a way to greet a stranger. Does that usually work when you're trying to befriend someone?”

He scoffed into his glass, taking another short sip. “Please. We both know you're not here for ‘friendship’. Nobody ever is.” He muttered, and something about the way he said that stirs something in you. But in your inebriated state, you barely noticed it.

“And what makes you think that?” You purred, resting your chin on your hand as you gave him your full attention.

Another eyeroll. He seemed to shrink away from you, but it’s barely noticeable. “You stink of ‘douchebag’ five miles away. Shitty dyed blond hair, overly expensive branded shades _inside a fucking night club_ , and don't think I didn't fucking notice you unbutton your shirt, you ginormous pile of pretentious horse shit. I'm not fucking stupid, or blind, jackass.”

The way he insults you with the most colourful vocabulary you've heard makes you smile. It's like if Rose stopped giving a shit and was just completely honest with her thoughts. It's very amusing more so than it is being a repellant from you, which is what he was probably aiming for. “FYI, my blond hair is not dyed. It's perfectly natural.”

He fixed you with a glare that could probably cut through steel, but all it really did was mesmerize you with how bright it glowed for being such a dull colour as grey. “Do I look like I give a shit? No. So fuck off already.”

You just chuckled, which seemed to annoy him even more. “Harsh, man. I just wanted to chat. You're proving to be plenty entertaining already- what's your name by the way? I never got it.”

“It's pretty fucking obvious I don't want to associate myself further with you, why the hell do you think I'd ever give you my fucking name?” He snapped, slamming his glass on the wooden counter and making its amber contents swish a bit.

You shrugged, cool and composed. “My name's Dave. Dave Strider.” You said casually, but he continued to simply glare at you.

“Is that supposed to mean something? Because I've never fucking heard that name before, fuckass.” You shrugged again. You're not surprised, even with your reputation as a famous director, not everyone has heard of you or put a face on the name because you don’t exactly appear in front of cameras all that often. Only people who pay attention to the petty affairs of showbiz would really know you. Welp. At least you tried.

“No. I'm just introducing myself. And since you won't tell me your name, I guess I'll default to just calling you crabcakes then.” He looks at you with a confused expression, but the anger and frown never left his face. You casually point to his black hoodie with a grey cancer symbol on it. He looks down at it before glaring back at you, looking absolutely done with your shit.

“You're not going to leave me alone until I give you what you want, aren't you?” He said it like a question, but you know it was rhetorical.

You had chuckled. “I'd definitely love to get your pho-” you had started to say before being cut off when he pulled on the front of your shirt and pressed his lips insistently against yours. You're quick to allow him access when he licks along your lower lip, tongue slipping in to meet yours.

It's not really how you expected things to go, but like you'd complain about making out with an attractive guy even if he doesn't like you the way you do.

You rest your hand on his hips and pull his seat closer to yours. He grips the front of your shirt with both of his hands, kissing you rather aggressively. You let him dominate this time since you're enjoying his expert movements. Clearly, he's done this before to be really good at it. Flicking and twisting his tongue in just the right ways against your own to leave you wanting more. It was intoxicating on top of your already inebriated self.

He only lets go of you after you're both breathless, panting softly. He stares at you with those bright, bright silver-grey eyes of his before he hopped off his stool, holding your wrist and dragging you away. He left his drink halfway finished.

Before you can even coherently ask him where the fuck he's taking you, he's already pushing out of the doors that leads to the back of the club. The loud noises of the club are muffled once you're out in the cold night. Last you checked on your phone, it was already three in the morning.

“Crabcakes-” Before you can even form a single sentence, he pushes you against the wall with surprising strength. He stands about just below your chin so you'd guess he was about five seven or five eight to your tall six feet height. Without hesitation, he grabbed the front of your shirt again, pulling your face down to his level and kissing you deeply just like before. His tongue flicks along the inside of your mouth that leaves you breathless and aching for more.

He moved his hands from the front of your shirt, smoothening it down your chest before snaking around your neck. He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling at just the right time and the right amount of pressure as he kissed you.

You, by instinct, wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer, grabbing his ass. He's got a really good one from what you can feel and it sends shivers down your spine and heat in the pit of your stomach when he whimpered into your mouth. He pressed close to you, sliding a hand down from your shoulders, to your chest, and down to your waist painfully slow. He kept his other hand pressed to the nape of your neck to keep your lips trapped with his.

The warmth he radiated compared to the cold chill of the night only heightened the feelings of heat he trailed everywhere he touched you. He pressed his hand on the tent in your jeans and squeezes lightly, earning a low moan from you.

He unbuttons your jeans and pulls down your zipper with ease as if he's done this so many times already without ever needing to look down.

He pulled away from you and before you can even catch your breath from that intense kiss, he's already down on his knees, the head of your dick between his lips. Holy fuck this is moving way too fast for you. But like shit are you going to stop him now.

You choke back on a moan when he takes in more of you with the ease of someone experienced. You didn't expect that. But the pleasure and the effects of the alcohol were hitting you hard right now and your vision is starting to blur.

It doesn't take long for you to reach and fall over the edge. Your tensed body relaxed once you've reached that climax and you suddenly feel like your legs are jello. You leaned back against the brick wall as you pulled your lower garments up. He stands in front of you for a few moments, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and glaring at you.

“Fuck. You.” Was his last biting words to you before disappearing back into the club. You embarrassingly took way too long to button up your jeans and enter the club again.

You searched for him inside, but he was gone. Ben doesn't know where he went either since the crabby dude doesn't exactly frequent this exact club and he didn't come back to even finish his drink. He just. Up and disappeared.

Fuck.

You really didn't expect that, but you weren't disappointed. He's really fucking good at giving blow jobs. But you weren't _exactly_ looking for a quick suck and go or a one night stand. That may have been your initial intention, but after getting to talk to the steel-eyed male, you're more than piqued. And it's very rare for someone to catch your attention. And keep it.

The way he talked, his brutal honesty, his emotive expressions. Everything about him was magnetic.

You… Want to get to know him.

Even if you're just now realizing that the fucker just robbed you.

You don't care much for losing your phone or your wallet. Both are replaceable and you can just close the bank account before he can do anything with the cards you did have inside it. You did have about a thousand dollars in cash inside that wallet, but that's really a small amount compared to what you do have.

Rose sighed exasperatedly at you, bringing your attention back to reality. “Dave. Dave, why are you so fucking stupid?”

You scoffed and threw a throw pillow at her. “Shut the fuck up. It's not like its a big deal. I can always get a new phone and I can just freeze the account.”

She simply shook her head at your reply, uncrossing her legs to stand up. “Are you going to look for him, then?”

You stared up at the ceiling for an intermediate amount of time. Then you sigh. “I know you don't want me to.” You said softly.

“But you will anyway.” She finished for you. You glanced at her, but she doesn't look as mad as you expected.

You nodded and she sighed once again. “Well, you're an adult and I am not your mother. You can do whatever you want, Dave. Just please make better decisions.” Her heels click once again as she moved from the living room to the entryway, reaching for the door.

“No promises!” You called after her as she slid on her coat and picked up her bag. She casually waves to you without looking back, closing the door behind her.

Now that you're alone, you huff. What exactly are you going to do now?


	2. You Found Me At The Local 501 Motel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. This is prolly a rlly bad attempt at writing something depressing ;-; Sorry in advance.

The alarm rang obnoxiously loud by your bedside table. Groaning, you peaked your head out from underneath the covers only to curse when the sun's rays blind you. You retreat back under your covers but reach your hand out to try and shut your fucking alarm off that's still blaring loudly.

After blindly feeling for the piece of shit alarm clock, you finally find it and pull at it to unplug it from the outlet completely. Silence immediately descends in your room and you sighed gratefully.

You'd really rather go the fuck back to sleep since you only had literally three hours of sleep last night due to some stupid encounter with an annoying blabber mouthed shit head. But you've still got a shift to catch so you force yourself out of bed.

You throw your sheets off of you just to get it over with, bathing your body under the bright, warm sunlight. You roll over and swing your legs off of your bed before padding over to your window and closing it. Not like that helped much, your dark curtain is thin as fuck and the light still penetrates through it. Your room is now coloured a bright shade of red. Whatever, better than looking directly at the sun. You seriously need to get some blinds sometime...

Anyway, you walk over to your closet embedded into the wall and change out of your sleeping clothes. You're slow and your whole body feels like lead, but then again, that's practically something that happens on a daily basis. You're just glad you didn't have a client last night.

But at the same time, that worries you. Your side job helps a lot with helping you survive day by day in this shitty flat you own. It's in the crappy part of town, its small and cramped, and the landowner is a piece of shit but this is literally the cheapest apartment you could find that you could actually afford at the time. You took it before you missed this opportunity and you had to look for a place for another month or two. And you really couldn't live with Kankri for another week. You can't even stand another day of his ranting about how you should be grateful to him he's letting you stick around while you looked for a place to live and how you should do something better with your life than the way you're currently living it. He can go fuck himself, he literally doesn't help you get your life together aside from keeping you from being homeless. So much for his brotherly care. He's full of himself but he doesn't actually do jackshit to show that he actually cares. And he even has the gall to make you feel guilty about the way you live your life like you didn't already know that.

You're glad you didn't have a client because that means you're not tired as fuck and sore in the morning when you go to work at the shitty cafe down the street. It just makes your day ten times shittier than you can deal with. But you have to.

But at the same time, it worries you that you haven't been getting as many clients in the past month because you're scared of your shitty manager dropping you.

Fuck, you're already making yourself depressed so early in the fucking morning. This is only going to leach out more of your already limited amount of energy. If you weren't such a fucking coward, you would've offed yourself years ago.

You shake your head and pick up your uniform, shoving it into your backpack. You left your room to walk down the short narrow hallway to the tiny kitchenette directly connected to your living room. A glance at your watch tells you that you've got another half hour to walk to work before you're late. At least your supervisor at the cafe is nice enough. Meulin is really understanding of your situation and lets you get away with more than you probably should. You owe her a lot.

And as if to make your day worse, your shitty coffee machine is acting up again and you really can't be bothered to fuck around and try to fix it this morning.

Guess you're facing the day without the help of coffee on your side.

Grumbling to yourself, you slip on a thin windbreaker jacket and leave your apartment, locking the door behind you.

 

* * *

 

Petit Coin Café is a small local corner cafe just a few blocks down the street from your own apartment. It’s not that big, but it's not cramped either. It walks that line thin line of crowded and comfortable.

Light filtered in from the windows all along the two walls, bathing the establishment with a golden glow. It was a lazy morning with only a few customers inside. Light snow fell from the sky, but as soon as it lands on the ground, the white spots quickly dissipate. It's not that cold for a December in the city. But you still bothered to wear a jacket just in case.

Meulin was happily humming behind you as she made the coffee for the latest order. You're simply standing around by the cash register, leaning your chin on your hand. Aradia was in the back with Tavros, baking and doing storage. It’s just the four of you this morning. Just the four of you with the pleasant scent of pastries and coffee in the air.

Your mind constantly flits back to last night despite your efforts to keep your head blank.

The douchebag you met had been the first guy to hit on you in a while. But that’s probably because you rarely have time to go out and do something for yourself. Last night was a rare outlier in your routine. It was spontaneous and unplanned and you did manage to relax and forget your issues for a little while with the loud blaring music echoing around the spacious room.

If you were being honest with yourself, he wasn't as bad as some of the others you've encountered before. He wasn't a creep that tried to get handsy with you and he wasn't a druggie that smelt strongly of weed. He was… Respectable. He flirted with you like a proper human would rather than a desperate fucker looking for a quick fuck and forcing themselves on you. He was nice.

But you're not about to let yourself be naive like you were when you were a teenager. You're not about to let yourself hope and dream that there's actually a decent rich guy that is actually into you for yourself and could just sweep you off your feet and take you away from your shit life. You're not fucking ten anymore and your life is far from the movies you adore.

But he did help you. A little bit. You can actually pay rent this month and still have some leftover for a proper grocery shopping. Pawning off the phone and the wallet might get you something more too since he seems to be pretty famous. Even though you have no fucking clue who the fuck he is in the first place.

You don't really feel guilty about what you did. You did what you had to just so you can survive and you doubt the shades-wearing douchebag is going to miss the things you stole from him. You were desperate and you don't care about morals at this point. You won't ever see him again anyway.

At least you can survive for another month until you have to worry about rent again.

 

* * *

 

 

The cafe is open from eight in the morning up to five in the afternoon. Before you went home, you had stopped by the local pawn shop and got quite a bit more cash from the things you stole. Looks like it came from a pretty famous director you have never heard of because you're too busy to pay attention to mainstream media.

Once you got home, you hid your extra cash into your emergency stash inside a blue container above your fridge. Afterwards, you had simply sat back in your ratty old couch and watched some of your feel-good movies, letting your mind wander.

You can go grocery shopping tomorrow after work. The promise of a proper meal tomorrow makes you smile.

 

* * *

 

You had slipped into bed after screwing around with the coffee machine only to break it further and end up having to toss it in the trash. You had leftover fast food from yesterday, heating it up in the microwave.

Your dreams are plagued by nightmares of memories you'd rather forget. But this was typical for you. Your body seems to hate you just as much as life does and makes you feel as miserable as you possibly can.

You're pathetic.

But you’ve accepted that fact long ago.

 

* * *

 

Sleep was…

Terrible. But that's typical for you. At least you actually got a proper eight-hour sleep last night and you don't feel as disgusting as you usually would in the mornings. You even woke up early enough to take a warm shower and dry off before work.

Other than that, the day progressed as it usually would. You went to work, you went grocery shopping, and then you cooked yourself a proper meal for the evening.

The day had been one of the less shit days for you.

You kept an eye on your phone, wishing and dreading a call at the same time. But it never did ring. And you don't know if you're relieved or if it makes you anxious.

The days went on like that. Monotonous, boring, and exhausting, both physically and mentally. Every step you made just made you feel like melting into the floor and never getting up.

A week passes without a call and now you're sure that it’s making you nervous and worry now. You've paid for the rent already, but you're always constantly worrying about the next time you have to pay for rent. The next time you have to go grocery shopping and the next time you open your fridge and find it sparse of almost anything.

Halfway through the next week, you're seriously thinking about calling up your manager just to check in when your phone finally rings.

You had been in the kitchen, playing around with the cup noodle on the table. Your shitty chunky television was playing some romcom you've watched five hundred times already. It was just some quiet background noise for you to listen to while your thoughts ran away from you again.

Despite being a cynic and a pessimist, you still like to delude yourself with fantasies of if things ever went perfectly for you. A proper career somewhere in literature instead of your small cashier job at the small corner cafe. A nicer apartment you can actually afford. Never having to worry about money or having enough food to get you through another month. Maybe actually spoil yourself a bit with luxury items, things that aren't necessary, but entertaining to have nonetheless. And of course, a loving partner to share it all with.

Someone nice and caring, someone you can lean on and depend on, someone honest and faithful. A whirlwind romance worthy of one of your romantic comedies.

But you're aware that they're just fantasies. You're daydreaming and it always fills you with dread in the pit of your stomach when you ground yourself back in reality. You lose energy or motivation to do anything. You wish you could just jump off the goddamn window or just overdose and die in your sleep. It's a vicious cycle you can't seem to break out of despite knowing how destructive it is to yourself.

But you're too scared to actually harm yourself. Too scared of pain. You can live with the dull numbness that's settled itself in your core for years now. But you can't deal with an illness or an injury and have to pay for hospital bills.

So you don't.

But you want to. You feel like you're just a walking corpse.

Your mind floated around these thoughts every time you're alone. And you're alone a lot of the time.

But when the phone rang after almost a full month of being silent, you find yourself running to it, full of hope.

“Hello?”

“Evenin’ Kar. You're not busy are ya? I need you to be somewhere in the next hour or so. Sorry for the short notice, darlin’. But work is work, right?”

And full of dread at the same time.

 

* * *

 

You hate that you have to do this. But you don't have much of a choice. You've been doing this for years and its saved you from being homeless and starving. You can't just stop now.

You don't give a shit about what Kankri thinks of your job. You don't like it as much as he does, but who the fuck is he to judge you? He fucking left you at that house to suffer alone and he never actually fucking helped you get out of this shitty industry despite constantly criticizing your choices. It's his fault you didn't have any other choice but this.

You have to do this.

It's okay. You've done this so many times before that you can't even feel it anymore. It’s alright.

You're great at lying to yourself. You're even greater at believing your own lies just so you can keep yourself together.

The place Cronus was sending you at was practically at the edge of the city. Fucker at least called up and paid for a taxi to take you there. Despite being a raging douchebag twenty-four seven, he actually takes pretty good care of the people that work under him.

You've seen a lot of motels before. You've probably been in each one that exists in this city. And you're pretty familiar with this one. A lot of people like to meet up where not many people can witness them going into the motel.

The local five oh one motel. The numbers flicker in the night atop the big sign. You adjust your scarf and forge forward after standing around the sidewalk for five minutes even after the taxi had left you.

You try to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut, almost like your internal organs are trying to rearrange themselves. You clench your hands inside your coat pocket to stop them from shaking. It's been almost a month since you did this. It shouldn't be making you feel this nervous and this afraid. This isn't your first time.

But it feels like it is again.

The walk from the sidewalk up to the door you're supposed to meet up with your client felt too short. Looking around you, you find that you're the only one around here. The parking lot was only semi full of cars. You look down the hallway at the other closed doors that led to little motel rooms. You then look at the number on the door and then check the little-ripped paper you have in your jacket that contained the room you're supposed to be at. B14, 501 motel. You’re in the right place. And it just makes you feel even more nervous. So much so to the point of wanting to stab yourself in the stomach to get some relief from the anxiety in your guts.

You bite your lower lip hard and close your eyes, forcing your hand off of your jacket pocket and knocking on the door. You keep your eyes closed and your face tilted down at the ground as you listened as the knob of the door is turned and a soft click told you that the door was opened.

“You're Karkat, right?” Your eyes snap open and up at the person who opened the door for you.

You don't know why, but seeing him fill you with so much relief you felt like your knees were about to buckle under you. But then the reason for you being here in the first place hits you like a fucking truck and you feel a little winded and the anxiety inside your gut only intensified, your muscles tensing back up.

It’s fucking painful for you to decide whether it’s better that your client for the night is someone you've already encountered before in an already sexual manner or if it would've been better if it was a stranger who you can definitely do things with no strings attached. You have no fucking clue what he wants from you so much so that he actually looked and found you and you really don't want to have any more relations with him other than that night. And remembering the fact that you did fucking steal from him along with being extremely and very unnecessarily rude to him isn't helping matters.

You don't know what he wants from you. Revenge? To teach you a lesson? You'd never admit it but you're scared. You've had people treat you like the fucking dirt under their shoe and have had people feel the need to assert their dominance and superiority over you, to remind you that you're nothing but something to be used and discarded just because it gets their rocks off.

And you're scared. You've always been scared every time you do this because you never know what type of person you were going to get. But it was your obligation to give yourself for the night just for a couple of hundred of dollars. But the frequency of it helped you because you've done it so often.

But now that you had a long break from it, experienced a few weeks of calm and comfort in the night, only to come back to it, fucking terrifies you.

_Fuck._

You don't even remember his name. What was his name again? But to your defense, it's been almost two weeks since that encounter with him at the club.

He smiled softly at you, opening the door a little wider for you to come in.

You don't want to go in. This can't be what's really happening. There must've been a mistake or some sort of miscommunication somewhere with Cronus-

“Your name is Karkat Vantas, right?” You turn on your heels and walk away.


	3. I Paid Money Just To Talk To You, Goddamnit

It really shouldn't have taken this long. It really shouldn't have taken you this long to finally track down a short crabby guy you don't know the name of. Not when you're basically drowning in money to waste like scrooge mcduck.

But you suppose, going off of just your description alone would make it harder for you to find him, even when you've got people all over the city searching for him. You tried to keep your dealings on the down low though, you don't need the media exploding your intentions for everyone to see. That might literally just drive him away from you even further.

The first place you had checked was at the club where you met- Andromeda. Club Andromeda. A popular hotspot in the city for every kind of person to just kick back, relax, and lose all your inhibitions. Celebrities of all types come around to chill at Andromeda too because of their strict no media personnel policy meaning they didn't have to worry about the press recording their every movement. Of course, some journalists go undercover and actually manage to sneak into the establishment every now and again, but Andromeda's reputation still holds up pretty well. Other than that, all you need is a valid ID saying you’re over eighteen years of age to be allowed inside.

You know the owners of the club fairly well since you frequent their place so much. Something Rose is highly against, by the way, but you rarely listen to her advice because what's life if you don't take risks and chances? That's right, it’s fucking boring.

You were allowed to question their staff members in your search for crabcakes (since you still don't know his name, you're sticking with crabcakes). Turns out that some of them had seen him come in a few times before, but he's not a regular around the place like you are. Nobody actually knows who he is or where he comes from though. Quiet guy and keeps mostly to himself.

The fact that it's this hard for you to locate him only adds to the mystery of who he is and you're more eager to find out the answer. You have no idea why you're blowing so much money on this, but something in your guts tells you that you just had to see him again. His eyes are seared into your head and you can't stop thinking about that brief encounter with him.

It feels like something you'll regret if you let him slip through your hands.

For the first few days, you come up empty with very few leads that don’t look promising in the slightest. Until one of your hired staff meant to look especially for him finally comes up with a solid a week after you met him.

At the time, you had been feeling more and more anxious at the dead end you faced after all of the searchings you've done. Which was honestly stupid because you barely know the guy. But the idea of never seeing him again strangely makes your gut twist uncomfortably.

You still remember so much about him even though you were already pretty inebriated when you first met him. Like how soft his hair had been when you ran your fingers through it. The way he smelled faintly of alcohol and something vaguely mint-like. Or how you could taste the bitter liquor still on his tongue.

The owners of the club had contacted you back a week after you checked in with them, asking to call you if they find anything else to aid you in your quest. They told you of a dealer that comes around the club every now and again and seems to know something about the crabcakes you're looking for.

But he won't exactly talk unless you buy his product. What's he selling? In a flashy city full of celebrities and high profile people with too much money on their hands, shitheads like him are always bound to provide a taboo service like this. It's inevitable everywhere.

After all, sex sells.

His experience from that night suddenly makes a lot of sense to you. And really, you should've realized it sooner. You feel like a dumbass for not figuring it out until then because then, you might've found him sooner. You feel… Oddly possessive, even if he's not yours, to begin with.

But you want him to be.

As soon as you got the tip, you had ventured out every night at the club since then, not to party or lose yourself to the music. But to look out for this particular ‘dealer’. From what the owner had described, you should be able to pinpoint who he is just with the way he wears, whatever the fuck that means. They hung up on you before you can clarify what the fuck that meant.

So you personally went out to the club every night that week, on the lookout for this ‘guy’. And sure enough, halfway through the week, you spot him. Just as easily as they told you would.

If crabcakes were around he'd probably compare your doucheness meter to this guy. Which you'd be offended by because the guy literally looks like he just stepped out of a convention cosplaying as some background douchebag from Grease. All slicked back black hair, a shitty unlit cigar at the corner of his mouth and a leather jacket bedazzled with far too many patches to be attractive in any way.

And wow you're already imagining what a complete stranger would say and how you'd react to it. What the fuck is happening to you?

Really, your conversation with him wasn't something worth noting. All that matters is that he does know who crabcakes are and with a fair amount of money which is almost like nothing to you, he tells you his name. The jackass had you paying him more afterwards because he wouldn't say a damn thing else about the guy you're looking for because of ‘privacy reasons’. Something about keeping his workers’ identities as anonymous as possible. Cheap sex is usually stringless, after all.

He told you that you were gonna have to find out for yourself and he got you to pay for a night with him just so you can talk with him. The smug bastard at least made it possible for you to meet him that night when you booked for an appointment as soon as possible.

Sitting around in a dingy old motel, you started to think about what the fuck exactly you're doing.

You've done a lot of stupid shit from your high school days up to this very day but this is high up on the stupid scale of things you've done. Who the fuck blows thousands of dollars just to look for the guy who gave you an amazing blow job at the back of the club but also probably just did that so he could rob you of your phone and your wallet? What the actual fuck are you doing, Strider?

Second thoughts swirled around your mind while you stupidly waited around the motel room, wondering if you just got conned really badly and there's actually no one coming. You waited for hours, and you were seriously considering just bailing out since the idea of you getting conned just made more and more sense by the minute. You also put your own decision making into serious question.

After some time, you had stood up and picked up your coat by the coat rack and planned to leave and beat yourself up about getting conned. You were about to leave when there was a knock at the door and your heart stopped inside your chest.

All of your thoughts were literally just thrown out the window and all you can think about is those solid steel grey eyes-

You opened the door and stared down at a short male, black hair as wild as ever, but his head was tilted down. Its stupid, how happy it made you to see him again and how relieved you are that he actually came, that he's actually standing here, close to touch. 

And you actually know his name now.

“You're Karkat, right?”

His head snaps up and your eyes meet again. Bright silver eyes glittering like stars in the darkness of the night. They were as captivating as you remember them to be.

You only notice it now but his eyes are actually owlishly big without him constantly frowning and creasing his brows together. He's even more fucking gorgeous than you remember, a flush on dark skin visible enough because of the cold temperature outside. Long black lashes that framed his eyes perfectly just like how his bangs perfectly framed his face. You want to touch him again, feel that warmth again.

He’s staring at you with wide eyes, surprise clearly written on his face. You can't help but faintly smile. “You are Karkat Vantas, right?”

He turns on his heel and begins walking away.

“Wait!” You reach out and grab onto his shoulder and he immediately freezes up under your touch. Then, he violently jerks his shoulder out of your grip only to turn around and scowl at you.

“Don't fucking touch me, you obnoxious piece of shit. What the fuck are you even fucking doing here? And how the  _ fuck _ did you fucking find me?!” He barks at you with as much venom in his voice as it did the first time you approached him. That really should turn you off, but you find that it just  _ fits _ him so well that it's actually kind of attractive to you. His personality is attractive to you.

That's a fucking first in a long goddamn time.

You shrugged. “Do you want to talk about it right here, right now, while the cold winter breeze freezes you over?”

“Answer the fucking question, fuckass.”

“It's complicated, okay? Look, just come inside and I'll explain.” He looks at you with those wide, expressive eyes of his, and you think he's nervous. No, he's definitely nervous. Why you're not really sure.

After a long tense silence that seemed to stretch on into forever, he finally steps past you and into the shitty motel room that greaser fucker provided you with.

He stands in the middle of the room, hiding his face as much as he can in his scarf with his hands inside the pockets of the jacket, shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly and pointedly looking away from you and away from the bed-

Oh fuck. Through all of the excitement of getting to see him again, you fucking forgot the nature of your meetup. To him right now, you're a client he's obligated to spend the night with. And the fact that you've met before and he stole from you is probably making him nervous, which isn't what you want at all.

“We're not going to do anything together.” You blurt out and his eyes meet yours, brows furrowed in confusion. You force out a cough to alleviate the tension in the room and rub the back of your neck. “I meant. I don't plan on doing anything else with you tonight other than talk.”

“So, what? You fucking paid just to talk to me?” He spits out in a way that makes you feel like a dumbass. It sounds worse said out loud than it does inside your head.

You cough awkwardly again. “Yeah.”

He stared at you with the most incredulous look on his face, it might've been funny at any other circumstance. “Are you fucking brain damaged or something?” There wasn’t even any sarcasm in his voice. As if he's genuinely wondering if you've recently had a lobotomy done to your brain.

Honestly, you're asking yourself that same question.

“Harsh.” You simply stated. “You're hurting my feelings over here, Kitkat. I spend all this money on you just to talk to you and this is how you treat such a blatant and obvious gesture of romance?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “This is not fucking romantic in any sense of the word. It’s actually pretty fucking offensive to even call this a gesture of romance. Romance has higher standards than this shit. Standards that you apparently don't have, which honestly, is something I should've expected from an affluent arrogant dickhead like you. If you seriously think stalking the dude who blatantly robbed you and then renting him out for the night just to ‘talk to him’ is romantic in any shape or form, I'd say you should book an appointment with a psychologist and get your brain checked asap. And for the record, never ever fucking call me any other shitty nicknames again because I might just let my self-restraint snap and end up strangling you with the cord of the lamp in this room and possibly end up in prison for ten years after being charged for first-degree murder.”

Okay, wow. That word vomit is worthy of your own lengthy bullshit spiels. But you can do better.

“Man, you sound like you know so much about romance for being a prostitute and all. I'd assume you were the type to believe that romance is dead in the fucking ditch, where it belongs to be mercilessly trotted and stepped over by pedestrians who are too busy to care about anything in life outside of their phones like some sort of social media zombie. What do you know about romance or love, oh great and enlightened one? Would you care to share your oh so insightful knowledge to us unworthy and sinful mortals? I mean, if I didn't know better, I'd probably say you got that idea of grand and epic shows of love from cheesy and unrealistic romcoms. Because trust me, dude, binge watching that shit doesn't make you a romance expert in the least with how bullshit and reliant those movies are at plot convenience than actual, real causation and effect.”

He stares at you again with those wide, owlish like eyes and you think you can see a dark blush heating up his face. He's gawking at you like you just grew a second alien head in the span of the last few minutes you spent rambling.

It seems you might've hit something bang on with the flustered and angry way he’s looking at you.

“Holy shit dude. Please tell me you don't actually like romcoms unironically.” The flush on his cheeks only seemed to grow and he refuses to meet your gaze. You can't help but actually fucking laugh. That's just too fucking precious, what the fuck?

“You're a raging asshole, did you know that? How many people have fucking smacked you in the goddamn head for being an insensitive shit flinging cretin? Because I'd be very fucking surprised if the number is anything less than double digits.” He growls behind the scarf that's still hiding half his face.

“If I got a penny for everytime you swear, I'd probably be at the top of the list of richest people in the world from Forbes magazine.” You retorted back, an easy smirk playing on your lips. Getting him riled up shouldn't be this entertaining.

He gives you a deadpan look. “Is that seriously the best fucking insult you can throw at me, Strider? You're even more pathetic than Eridan Ampora.”

You feign a gasp. The fucker is always in TMZ's headlines for getting into all sorts of relationships with literally anyone and has never held a relationship longer than a month. You play mock offence. “I can't fucking believe you just compared me to that douchebag, Karkles.”

He stomps his foot irritably and shit, that really shouldn't be cute, but it is. “Again, with the goddamn nicknames! I’m going to suffocate Cronus in his sleep forever giving out my name to you.”

“Dude, that's literally the second time you've threatened to harm someone in a violent way. I can't believe I ran after a psychopath.”

“Why the fuck are you here?” He questioned, bringing the conversation back to its original course. Holy shit that banter easily derailed you from your original task at hand. The rapport you have with him just feels so easy and natural and you genuinely enjoy talking to him.

You shrug. “As I said, I wanted to talk to you.”

He crossed his arms. “About what?”

“Just to talk to you. We were already kinda doing just that, bro.”

He heaved an exasperated sigh, the tension in his shoulders slumping. He walks over to the bed and sits down, arms still crossed. “How the fuck did you even find me?”

Leaning back against one of the walls, you shrugged. “This is where the romantic part kicks in, Kitkat. Had people searching the whole damn city for you like it's the third and final act in a typical rom-com movie right after the darkest moment when things look bleak only for shit to turn around and our plucky protagonist has to search for the generic love interest around the city so he or she could confess their undying love to them and live happily ever after and have a time skip where they're happily married in a typical suburban home with three kids. I was just about to give up until I got a lead on Cronus.” You had explained casually.

Actually, you're coming off as really fucking creepy and stalkerish and kind of desperate aren't you? Fuck that comparison to Ampora might just hold some weight to it. You're so screwed.

Karkat rolls his eyes at you. You have a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of that around you. You should keep score just to annoy him.

“Fuck. I knew I was good, but I didn't think I was  _ that _ good to have a ludicrously famous director blow all his cash just to find me.” He said this heavy with sarcasm that if it were a physical object it'd probably weigh more than at  _ least _ five tonnes. “It was just a fuckin blow job, jesus christ are you really that fucking desperate? I doubt even Eridan would stoop even this low for like you said,  _ a prostitute _ .” There was a flicker of a smirk on his lips before it was gone but the smugness in his voice was unmistakable. 

He thinks he's one-upped you with his obviously scathing and hostile insult.

You don't really care though. You've learned that killing people with kindness is sometimes a better option just to aggravate the other party when they fully expected you to hit them back. “I mean, yeah you  _ are _ kinda good at what you do, but that's not the only reason I came out looking for you.”

He looks confused now, brows still knit tightly together though. He definitely didn't see that coming and you smirk. “What?”

“I liked talking to you when I met you. At least, from what I can remember of that night. But talking with you right now, you definitely do not disappoint.” You let your shades droop down from your nose just so your eyes are visible enough for him to see. You wink at him, before pushing them back up to their original place.

Even though his blushing isn't very obvious with his darker skin colour, his expression easily gives away the fact that he's flustered. Your smirk widens just a bit more at this. “Told you it was a romantic gesture.”

His flustered expression easily makes way for him to look like he's ten seconds from ripping your eyes out with just his fingers. Basically, dude looked genuinely angry enough that if glares could kill, you would've been dead long before this conversation even got this far. “What the fuck do you want from me?” He uttered the words slowly, enunciating every word in that low, raspy quality of his voice. Goddamn, you shouldn't find that as hot as it should be.

“Isn't it obvious to you already? If you watch so many romance movies and seem to pride yourself at knowing all about what romance is, you should know exactly what my intentions are.”

He continued to glare at you as if he was actually concentrating really hard at it until it actually does kill you. Your smirk turns into something more sly.

“I want to date you.”


	4. You Want To Fucking Do What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM. SUPER HERO LANDING.
> 
> Sorry for taking so fucking long to update >-> I have a few prewritten chapters to post but I got lazy in actually posting them along with continuing writing the story. I took a bit of a break since I didn't feel like writing much. But here's the long-awaited chapter in quite a bit. Have fun!

In the past few minutes, this dundering shit stain has managed to utterly take your emotions on a rollercoaster of bullshit.

And now you're staring at his smug as fuck smirk and all you wanna do is stand up, walk up to him, and punch it right off his pretty fucking face.

But as of right now, you're staring at him with wide eyes of absolute disbelief at the shit that just came out from his mouth. You're kinda glad your scarf is hiding your mouth because your jaw is wide open for a fucking fly to fly in and choke you to death. Actually, you'd really want no matter how embarrassing a death that would be. You just want to be put of out your miserable life already. Being made even worse the longer you spend with the arrogant idiot wearing shades indoors. Does he seriously wear those shit on a daily basis everywhere he goes? You don't want to stick around long enough to find out.

“You're fucking delusional if you think you have even a minuscule amount of a chance with me. I'd rather stab my eye out with a goddamn fork and eat it than spend any more time with an insufferable prick like you.” You spit out, standing up and making your way for the door.

He pushed himself off the wall and blocks your way. You glare daggers up at him as he looked you down, tension building since either of you aren't willing to back down. “Move, asshole.” You bite out, gritting your teeth.

“No.” He said simply yet firmly.

“No?” You parrot back at him, incredulous.

“No.” He repeated.

You punched him in the dick.

The blond doubles over in pain while you effortlessly took a step around him, opening the door and walking right out. The winds seemed to have picked up because they were blowing in your direction, biting your exposed skin. You think you hear him call after you, but you just keep walking. You'll call up a cab and wait for it to arrive when you're sure he's not following after you.

But glancing back and seeing him just watch you walk away somehow makes something in your stomach drop. He won't follow after you.

You're not disappointed.

Why the hell should you be? He's a delusional piece of shit that's just going to drop you after a month when he's had enough of you and he loses interest. You're not going to invest any effort or emotion into something you know that's doomed to destroy you again in the end. You’re not making that same mistake again.

After you've walked at least a block away from the motel, you paused and pulled out your phone. You called up a cab and waited about ten to fifteen minutes before it finally arrived.

You make your way back home.

 

* * *

 

You drop your keys by the counter while you pulled each of your shoes off and carelessly throw them in the general direction of where all your other shoes are. Which really are just two other pairs. One was another pair of sneakers and the others were black runners still in surprisingly good condition to this day.

Dave Strider. It's a stupid fucking name for an even stupider human being.

If he thinks he can just throw his money at you and woo you with his admittedly charming face, he's got another thing coming for him. You may be easy, but your fucking heart sure isn't. That shit is on tight lockdown because you don't need another douchebag toying with your emotions and make you believe you can rely on them only to abandon you in a moment's notice once they get bored of you. Sure, you're a romantic.

But you've long given up on romance for yourself. You're content being alone at five in the morning, binge-watching your romcoms and living vicariously through the actors on screen. Where you can delude yourself that everything is perfectly fine.

You’re perfectly fine. You're not lonely and there isn't an ache inside your chest, starving for real affectionate touch. You're perfectly fine.

You're just crying because the movie is really good and you can almost feel the protagonists emotions. Not because you're miserable at the fact that you're never going to have something like that

Not because some part of you is still, _still_ , holding onto some kind of hope for something better for you. No.

You're fine. You're perfectly fine.

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, you should've known that staying up until five in the morning trying to comfort yourself with romance movies was a bad idea when you know you have an early shift in the morning.

Well, you did know, but you just didn't care at the time. Past you can screw himself for being a gigantic dumbass who constantly makes shitty decisions in your life.

Thankfully, the store is always lazy in the mornings and on most days. Most of the people who do come around have been long time regulars you've come to be in polite acquaintances with. Really, it's not as bad working at the tiny cafe as you make it out to be. You look at things from with the worst possible expectations constantly, so when something even moderately nice happens, you are pleasantly surprised because it managed to surpass your very low threshold. An optimistic perspective on being a pessimist.

Meulin is happily making coffee behind you on the counters while you manned the register, perking up every now and again when the faint chime of a bell rings from the cafe entrance. Usually, it's just regular students spending their breaks from classes in the nearby college.

But somewhere around noon, with the sun shining brightly above you while snowflakes still fell from the sky, you get the most unexpected visitor in your cafe.

Actually, in all honesty, you should've expected this. He went through so much trouble to find you just to talk to you, you shouldn't be surprised that he's gone literal stalker on you and found your main second place of work.

He's in a long black overcoat with casual graphic t-shirt and jeans on, a maroon red scarf hanging loosely around his neck. And just like you expected, the douchebag kept his shades on even now.

He scans around the small corner cafe, his lips twitching into a faint smirk when he catches your glare from the cash register. With hands in his long coat, he swaggers over to you like he owned the shit. Your day was going pretty fine with just the lack of sleep bothering you, but now you wish you had just called in sick today and stayed in bed to catch up in your missing sleep.

“Karkat.” He greets you, amusement in his voice. You roll your eyes.

“What can I get for you, _sir_?” You questioned, sarcasm dripping from every word with an edge to the way you addressed him. He's watching you with an entertained expression on and you scowled at your dark reflection on his damn shades.

“Awe, baby. Don't be like that.” He purred, leaning his elbows on the counter in front of you.

“Don't call me that.” You snapped, crossing your arms. “Just let me do my damn job so you can get the hell out of here as soon as physically possible.”

He quirked a brow above his shades. “What if I was planning to sit down and relax in this fine establishment? Are you going to kick me out, Vantas?”

God do you want to yank out those branded aviators and crack it in half right in front of his face and see his horrified expression when you do. “Why are you here?” You said instead, a dangerous edge to your tone of voice.

He shrugged his shoulders all nonchalantly. “I've got a table reading with my cast at a building nearby. Thought I'd drop by and visit you while I was on my break.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can’t you just leave me the fuck alone? Just because you're all rich and fancy doesn't mean I can't get a fucking restraining order on your pathetic ass.”

He pouted at you. “I'm just trying to be nice to you, Karkles. What's so wrong with my proposition? You never gave me a straight answer to my question either, you just stood up and walked away.”

“Is my insults and general hostility towards you not enough to get it through your thick skull that I'm not interested in a one week fling with some big shot director?” You growled quietly under your breath.

“I'm still not hearing a no from you, Karkat.”

“Just fucking order already or shoot me in the goddamn head and end my misery.”

“I'll have a double espresso then, with a shot of milk.” He said casually, pushing himself off the counter and slipping his hands back into his coat pocket. You're actually a little surprised that he didn't drag the conversation any longer by derailing it with meaningless snarks like he did last night when you first met him.

He pays for it before you moved to make the order and he moved to the other end of the counter to wait for his drink.

You had written his name as ‘stridouche’ on the little piece of cardboard around the cup meant for holding onto it without burning your fingers. Beside it was a crude drawing of a middle finger. You hate that he seems to smile endearingly at it when you hand it to him.

And just like that, he left.

And you're mildly surprised that he respected your boundary instead of continuing to push against it like the complete fucking jackass you thought him out to be.

He still is one in your eyes. But more and more nice things are stacking up about him and you don't want to acknowledge them. Because if you do, you'll realize that he's actually been a pretty decent dude to you despite his tendency to spew shit out of his mouth like it was his ass.

And you really really don't want to come to that realization, so you continue to lie to yourself and believe every word of it.

He's just toying with your emotions and expectations just like any fucking douchebag. He's nothing more than a shallow piece of shit that's only going after you because you managed to pique his interest for the time being. And really, once he realizes you're really not all that interesting, he'll throw you out without a second thought like an old pair of shoes with holes in it.

He's nothing more than a rich fuck head and you're not falling for his charms.

 

* * *

 

Night came and you make it back to your shitty flat, feeling extra exhausted for the day. You were microwaving your dinner from yesterday when your phone began to ring again and your stomach immediately drops out from under you. 

Looking at the phone number, it's undeniably another job for you and you really don't feel like your body can take anymore exertion for the day. But it's not like you have the luxury to turn down the job. So hesitantly, you picked up the call.

And sure enough, Cronus wants you to meet someone in a new location- a pretty upscale hotel at the heart of the city where most of the hustle and bustle happens at all hours of the day and night. He called another cab to pick you up and take you there once again. You barely had enough time to finish your dinner before you were out in the cold with your same jacket as before, waiting by the sidewalk outside your apartment for a taxi.

The same jittery and anxious twist in your stomach returns as you entered the cab and told the driver where to take you.

Pearlescent hotel was a tall building just a couple of streets away from the city center where it lit up the night with all of the bright lights of fancy establishments and big advertisements on wide screens above.

The entrance had a velvety dark red awning above a set of revolving glass doors. The hotel name, Pearlescent, was in a fancy handwritten font of gold on the glass of every side of the revolving doors and attached in front of letters just above the awning.

Walking inside, you feel a rush of warm air hit you before subsiding into a comfortable heat as you stood by the entryway. The place was mostly deserted, with silent elevator music playing from the speakers at the corners of the room. There was a desk to the side with a bored looking employee in a fancy uniform and two sets of elevators leading up at the end of the room. Aside from that, the place was mostly unfurnished, just a few plants and a comfortable leather couch right across from the desk. The decorations were very minimalistic and the floor was of a cream like coloured marble with beige walls lined with gold at the edges where it met the ceiling and the ground.

It was fancy, alright. But it wasn't your first time in one of these types of hotels. It really only matters to what kind of environment your client wants to fuck in. Actually, you've been to this exact hotel two times now, this being your third.

You approach the front desk after checking your phone for the right room number. You ask the lady for the access card to room two hundred fifty and tell her that someone is expecting him there. She makes a quick phone call to the customer staying at the room to confirm it before handing you a black card with a golden trim on one edge.

You make your way to the elevator, look over which rooms are in which levels (like one to thirty is at the second floor, thirty to sixty at the third floor, and so on and so forth). You click on the tenth floor and feel the elevator shift upwards. Your anxiety is not helped by the dropping feeling you momentarily felt as the elevator climbed the building.

The elevator dings when you finally hit your destination. But your feet are glued in place as the elevator door opens. You only moved when the doors begin to close and you put a hand between them to prevent them from closing, letting out a quiet curse.

You walk out of the elevator.

The hallway was long with a door all lining each side. It was a wide space with the same beige walls but the halls were lit up with wall lamps emitting a soft orange glow instead of the white fluorescent from the ground floor. The floor was also carpeted with a nice dark brown. There was a single plant on top of a fancy table at the end of the hallway.

Really, you're just taking your time noticing everything around you so you can stall for as long as you can before you have to eventually face reality.

The stalling isn't long enough for you in all honesty. You make it in front of the door far too easily. You twirl the card in your hand, eyeing the doorknob with a card slider right above it. With a frustrated sigh, you steel your nerves knock on the door four hard times. “I'm coming in.” You announce, careful to keep your voice steady.

You slide the card on the slider (kinda like a credit card) and the door makes a quiet click noise to alert you that the door is opened.

You push the door open and enter-

Really, why did you even bother worrying at all? You should've expected this. You really should've.

 _Fuck_.


	5. I Said I Wanted To Date You, Dumbass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I'm being a shit author and taking so long to update at a time :') I promise I'll try harder ,unu,

Now that you know his name, it was easier to get to know more about him. Behind his back. Without his knowledge. Through the internet and your personal detective, you hired to gather as much information about him as possible but wouldn't be considered creepy. You didn't the guy to stalk him right outside his house. You were just curious as to where he lived and if he had another job during the day. Of course, he does.

You just want to get to know him and he's been really closed off about telling anything about himself to you. So you took matters into your own hands.

No, this isn't stalking. You're not following him around. You hired someone else to do it for you. Therefore, it isn't stalking.

No, you refuse to acknowledge anything Rose says about the matter.

He worked at a little corner cafe and you strangely found that fitting for him. You also found that the dude can really rock whatever he fucking wore because he looked good even in the warm colours of his uniform with a dark brown apron around him. You have no idea what keeps pulling you towards him, but you've stopped questioning it at this point. You've never felt this genuinely interested or invested in someone in a long time. A long time since you had a thing for Harley.

It's gotten pretty bad that some of your cast amd crew have noticed you being spacey after your visit to his workplace. Yeah. Pretty bad. But you can't really see it as a bad thing when you feel this good being around him.

You enjoy the easy banter you can build with him, enjoy his orneriness and you want to know more about the way he thinks. Know more about _him_.

You've always been one to wave away the concept of love- it's easier to do things with no strings attached. Fun for both parties without the consequence of responsibility. You've forgotten what it felt like to like someone this much and you want to do something about it this time. You're not a blank-faced, emotionally oppressed teenager anymore. You're twenty-six and you feel like a normal goddamn human being for once in your life.

So you do something about it. By which you mean because he refuses to spend any time with you on his off hours and refuses to give you a chance at all, you'll make it so he's obligated to spend time with you. Basically, you're willing to fuckin pay just to talk to him. Again.

You hit up the shady Ampora, who you found out is related to shit show Eridan Ampora, and you can tell that they're related, even if they seem to refuse to acknowledge the existence of the other. You have no idea what's happening with that but you don't really want to know.

You set up another ‘meeting’ with your favourite crabcakes for the night. You have plans this time because damn it, you are dedicated to making him yours. The thought of someone else's hands on him- makes you feel sick. So if you have to, you're going to be fucking renting out his time every goddamn night.

When the time finally came and the counter at the ground level called you up to let you know that someone wanted to get a key card to your room, you were nervously playing around with your coat buttons. In a few minutes, there's a knock on your door and the same deep raspy voice echoes through before the door clicked open.

Smiling sheepishly, you waved at him from the fancy queen size canopy bed. You’ll never get tired of the way his emotions clearly transitioned from one to another on his face. Its something you're not used to, people wearing their hearts on their sleeves around you. In your industry, everybody’s got an agenda, an ulterior motive behind making relations with you. Hell, you do the same, your ability to school your facial expression helping you multiple times before.

Perhaps that's what you liked about him. Well, one more thing you liked about him. He's adamant about his dislike for you, never even trying to cozy up to you and try to manipulate you for your wide range of influence. Any other person you would've given this much attention to would've tried to screw you over a long time ago. But him… He finds you annoying and he's not afraid to say it to your face in a very colourful manner  He's real with you, honesty like a breath of fresh air. His abundant swearing is something you find attractive, actually, even though it probably meant to ward you away from him. Sorry Karks, that plan is utterly failing because you're only liking him more and more as you interacted with him.

His face went from surprise to that of tired resignation before being replaced by his pointed glare and default scowl. You let yourself laugh at his reactions, just to piss him off and get him to react even more to you.

“What in the fresh fucking _fuck_ are you doing here again, you infuriating crap flinging maggot brained assfuck douche weed shit lord?” He spit out vehemently and you can't stop the smile that reached your lips at the very tasteful hateful nicknames he keeps pinning on you. Not like you were trying very hard to stop it anyway.

“Mm. Very artful as always, crabcakes. I'm so happy that you can greet me so warmly like this, really melts my cold, dead heart this winter season.” You replied faux casual in a way you know will annoy him further.

He groaned loudly, slapping a hand over his face and dragging it down. “Jesus horse shit on a fucking stick, smite me now before I literally commit the most heinous crime this piece of shit rock of a planet has ever seen in all of its goddamn histories and will ever see in its future.”

You raised a brow. “You just never run out of insulting words in your vocabulary, do you?”

He pointed glared at you again as if concentrating on trying to kill you on the spot without moving a muscle. You stifle laughter because it honestly just looks like he's terribly constipated.

“Fuck you. Fuck you so fucking much right now.”

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint, Kitkat, but that's not what we're doing tonight either.” His scowl mixes with a perplexed look. You have no idea how his facial muscles are even able to do that.

“Then why the fuck did you call me out here then, asswipe?”

You shrug. “As I said, I want to talk to you. We're going out for tonight, Karkles.”

“And you seriously paid for this shit?”

Another shrug. “Sure. I have more money than I know what the fuck to do with so might as well spend it on something that actually interests me since yachts are boring as fuck and it’s completely fucking pointless to buy a house in another fucking country that'll never get used more than twice a year. In either of those options, I'm just wasting money I don't need. Might as well waste it on you instead.”

He's still keeping that puzzled scowling expression on. “Why the fuck would you ever fucking do that?”

“Because I like you?”

He seemed to actually be taken aback by that, eyes widening like an owl yet again. It's frustratingly innocent looking, completely opposite to his entire personality and it makes your gut twist.

“I thought that was pretty fucking obvious already.” You add when he doesn't respond.

He seemed to shrink in on himself, rubbing his arm a few times and looking away. The frown is back, but it seems more subdued than the hateful look he was giving you. “That's pretty fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, well. I'm a fucking dumbass that makes dumbass life decisions so I might as well just embrace the title instead of lying to myself.”

He glanced up at you, eyes holding curiosity in them this time. _Score_.

“Plus, you can't say that this isn't a better alternative.”

His gaze hardens again, and he seemed even more closed off than before. _Shit_. Guess that was the wrong thing to say.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, to fucking judge me, you raging shit head?”

 _Fuck_.

He holds himself almost protectively, taking a step back but still staring at you with absolute vexation in those steely grey eyes. Fuck.

“Fuck you. You're just like any entitled rich piece of shit. Take your fucking money and go because I refuse to accept anything from a raging douchebag like you.” He bites and this time, it actually kinda hurts.

Karkat moved to shut the door behind him but you're quick and up on your feet, grabbing the other side of the door to stop him. “Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I wasn't judging you or insulting you- I just-”

You had tried to say but he simply lets go of the handle and starts down the hallway to get to the elevator. You cursed silently but thankfully, you're still fast enough to catch him.

“Let go of me you horse shit eating fucktard fuckass-” He started to protest, trying to rip his wrist out of from your grip, but you've got a good grasp on him.

“Just- I'm sorry- can you just listen to me-” You manage to grab his other wrist and pin him against the wall. He immediately froze up, eyes closed tightly and head turned away from you, baring his neck.

You immediately let go of him, feeling like an utter piece of shit. You move away from him until your back is pressed up against the opposite wall.

It takes a few moments for him to finally move again, blinking rapidly before shrinking in on himself again. When he lifted his head, the determined scowl is still on his face, a contrast to the way he's holding himself.

But he doesn't run away again. “What the fuck do you _want_ from me?” He questioned through gritted teeth, baring it at you almost like a scared dog ready to bite if he had to.

You frowned. “I don't want anything from you. I just… I just wanted to get to know you a little more but you're making it difficult because you won't even give me a chance.”

His angry frown melts into one of just resignation and it's a painful sight to see on his face. His eyes seemed to just dull and the dark circles around his eyes seemed to darken and he just looks overall exhausted. You have the strongest urge to reach out and comfort him, but something tells you that that would be a bad idea.

“Fuck. Alright. Fine. Whatever. I have a feeling you're not going to give up easily anyway. Whether it's because you're a brain-damaged fool and you just really like me that much, or because you're a difficult and stubborn dipshit.” He said with an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. Eventually, he stops hugging himself and he's back to his easy, slouching posture.

You can't help but smile. “Score.” You said out loud and you're not even embarrassed.

 

* * *

 

“So. Your idea of a good first date is going outside at night and walking around the busiest and noisiest part of the city to _chat_?' 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at him, something he makes a point of doing every time he thinks you're saying something stupid. Meaning every five minutes you talk because apparently, everything that comes out of your mouth is dumb as fuck. “It's not that bad. It's not like its loud enough for us to need to shout at each other just to be heard. It's just soothing background noise.”

He snorted. “Sure. Multitudes of footsteps of other people, the constant passing of cars, the occasional impatient honking and the loud chatter of hundreds of people at a time are definitely one of the top four things I like to experience all at once for a ‘soothing background noise’. Really fucking relaxes my bones. Shit, I'm ready to fucking drop right now. Be ready to fucking catch my body, Strider, I think the lights are going out for me.”

“What? You don't like the sounds of being alive?”

He paused for a moment, seemingly actually thinking about it seriously for a moment. “Lively city noises aren't usually what people would find calming. That's usually the biggest complaint about living in the city; it's fucking loud at all hours of the day and night.”

You shrugged. “Well, I'm not your typical person then. I like the calculated chaos of noise that the city makes at this time of the night.” You replied nonchalantly, looking around the bright shops the two of you are passing by as you walked side by side of each other.

The constant snowfall had managed to finally pile up into a decent dusting of white along the sidewalks instead of immediately evaporating upon contact with the ground. It's still snowing, but it's light and there are no harsh winds blowing in your faces. Everything around the two of you were bright and full of technicolour.

Karkat was walking beside you at a decent distance away from you. He had pulled his sweater hoodie over his head and zipped up the bright red windbreaker he had on. The same one he wore yesterday night. He's got his hands deep in his pockets to keep them warm, and so do you.

“Anyway, you never actually answered my initial question. Seriously, you derail shit so easily it's a fucking miracle anybody can get anything done when they're talking to you.” He seems to have an insult for you every time he opens his mouth. You find the number of things he complains about you to be amusing since even the smallest offences don't go unnoticed.

“I don't think there's anything wrong with taking a walk for a first date. Lots of chances to talk and get to know the other person. Really invest your attention to them instead of having to divide it when you're eating at dinner, or avoid conversation altogether in the movies.”

He raised a brow at you. “Don't you run out of things to talk about eventually, especially on a first date because you don't know the other person well enough to pull out topics that won't be boring for either of you and make things painfully awkward the rest of date?”

You grinned at him, watching the puffs of wispy white air escape from his mouth every time he talks due to the difference in temperature. “That may be the case for some people. But if you're really compatible with someone, you won't ever run out of topics to talk about, despite talking about the most mundane of things.”

He rolled his eyes. “The subtle implication you’re trying to make is completely false, Strider. Trading insults and retorts don't make two people compatible.”

“Doesn't it really? Pretty sure that's how every enemies to lovers romantic comedies start as. The steady rise of the underlying tension between two characters bantering until it finally reaches a breaking point and neither party can deny the definite just between them.” He seemed to pointedly take a step away from you as you continued to walk.

“Ugh. There's absolutely no fucking tension or goddamn chemistry between us, dunk-ass. I'm just fulfilling my goddamn duty for the night because this is how you chose to spend five hundred dollars worth of a night out with me.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing, Karkles. Would you really prefer to be having sex with me right now than this perfectly lovely pg13 conversation we're having? Shit, I mean, I wouldn't blame you. Everyone wants to tap this ass but very few actually do. Consider yourself lucky that I'm even gracing you with my presence, Vantas.”

He stayed quiet, scowling at the concrete floor the two of you walked on. As if he's blaming it for the current situation he's in.

“I'll be honest with you, I don't really want it if you're not completely on board with the idea and are only doing it out of a sense of responsibility you have to fulfil.” You continue on when he continued his silence. “I’ve hopped from one bed to another in multiple one nightstand encounters, but I've never liked the thought of forcing myself on someone.”

“Isn't that exactly what you're doing right now? Forcing yourself on me when I've told you multiple times before I really don't want anything to do with you?”

You falter in your steps. Because he's completely right about that. You've been too fucking delusional with taking going after what you desire that you didn't realize how fucking absurd you're being. Even though you claim again and again that you just want to get to know him more, your actions speak as if all you really wanted him for is to be your possession. Because you've been ignoring everything he's saying and seeing it more as something to be amused by rather than something to take seriously because everything just felt so lighthearted and noncommittal. You've never actually asked about how he felt about all of this.

He stops in his steps when you realize you've stopped walking alongside him. He looked back at you with those wide eyes of his, but for once, his expression is blank, almost looking bored with you actually.

“Then say no.” You told him as the crowd simply continued to walk past you like coursing water through a rock. He screwed his face up in confusion. “Say no.”

“To what, fuck face?”

“Karkat Vantas. Will you go out on a date with me?”

His mouth immediately opened, but nothing came out. Just little puffs of wispy white air as he continued to breathe, not a word leaving his lips.

His mouth closed with an almost audible click. Or you would assume so, you can't really tell with the hustle and bustle of the city surrounding the two of you. Every time he tried to open his mouth to say something, he only ends up closing it again, brows furrowed together in an uncertain frown. Your heart is racing inside your chest. You shouldn't care this much about what he has to say. You've only been hanging out together for the past few hours and you still actually know jack shit about him.

But you do anyway.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally says something to you.

“Yes.”


	6. You Asked Me But I Don't Why I Said Yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking incapable of writing anything too fucking angsty or sad holy shit. Everything I write always ends up being way too fucking fluffy what the actual fuck. This was supposed to be serious but all I'm capable of is writing these two being cute and shit ;-;

You don't know why you said yes.

You'd like to say that it was a brief blip of your consciousness and that you weren't thinking when you said yes. But you did think about it, for a long while as he stared at you through those shitty shades of his, expression uncertain for the first time since you've met him. Granted, you haven't known him very long. But you guess to some extent, you thought the douchebag wasn't capable of being doubtful of his own ego.

You thought about it. What were you thinking when you said yes?

Maybe it was some hopeful side of you that wants to hope even a little bit that you can have a proper functioning relationship. After you left your hometown, you had left behind all of your friends and you've been too anti-social to make any new ones despite the years you've lived in the city. Sure, Aradia and Tavros and Meulin were good acquaintances. But you've never hung out with any of them outside of work. Not like they asked you either (no, that doesn't send a prickling sensation of disappointment in your chest).

Some hopeful side of you that wanted to try and reach out to the first person who's been insistent on getting your attention.

Or maybe it was your curiosity that finally got to you, desiring to know just where this could go if you had agreed, despite the fact that it could end up messy for you once again.

You don't know which part of you really spoke when you had said yes. Maybe it was your heart, desiring genuine company after being so lonely for so long, defying your mind's protests of keeping distance for the sake of keeping you safe from any more negative emotions and experiences. You've been isolating yourself for so long, and perhaps it was that fundamental human need for social interaction that kicked your brain into gear into uttering the words of affirmation despite logic screaming at you that you're only going to get hurt.

You're well aware of your issues with attachment, after everything that's happened to you. Well aware that its abnormal to withdraw yourself in fear of being broken once again. Maybe you wanted a shot at finally fixing it to some extent. After all, when was an opportunity like this going to show up in your life again? When was another person going to show up in your life insisting to be apart of it despite all of your protests? Will you wait another ten fucking years for that to happen again? You're twenty and the bleak idea of spending another ten years of being alone like this was fucking depressing. Maybe that's why you said yes.

Whatever the reason, you had just agreed to go on an official date with a rich dickhead. You can't believe your standards have gotten so low that you'll settle for this. But then again, what normal person would ever look twice in your direction? You're a piece of filth that lets yourself be used, again and again, getting passed along from one person to another. You don't get the luxury of choice or standards. No one in their right mind would want to be with you. You're a whore who lost his dignity a long time ago. Who would ever want some second-hand item like you when they could have someone so much better who's never been touched before? Because practically anyone else would be a better choice than you.

He's a fucking dumbass. But maybe you actually like that about him. That he looked at you and thought you were worth something- worth his time and efforts. And you guess the romantic in you that still hasn't surprisingly died a long time ago, wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, you're not as fucking disgusting as you thought yourself to be. That someone could look at you for just… You. And damn if that idea wasn't so fucking intoxicating to think about.

The two of you had continued to talk the rest of the night after you had said yes to him. He had promised to take you out somewhere every night, that he was still going to rent you out for the week and pay Cronus just so the two of you can go on stupid shitty dates. You have a feeling he's trying to keep your schedule busy to prevent others from possibly ever making an ‘appointment’ with you. Which… You're actually glad for. But it'll take a million years for you to ever admit that to him.

The two of you had talked for about another hour after that, bantering about mindless things. You didn't actually notice time pass all that much, only stopping when you started complaining about your ankles hurting after walking for so long. The two of you had walked all the way to the east side of the city where the fashion district was. In the complete opposite direction of where you lived.

He had offered to take the cab with you just to make sure you made it home safely. His penthouse wasn't far from where the two of you were so he didn't need to take a cab with you to go home. But you told him that you weren’t some fragile princess and that you could take care of yourself. He called you a princess for that. You have a feeling you just gave him another shitty nickname to pin on you.

When you had come home, you hadn't realized that it was ten at night already. For once in your life, you actually felt somewhat content with your day. And you had one less thing to worry about. So overall, it was a pretty good day.

Before you go to bed, you decide to treat yourself a little because today was actually one of those very rare good days for you. You let yourself have some snacks and eat unhealthily (not like you were really eating healthily in the first place) whilst you watched some romcoms on your television for another two hours.

When you did finally go to sleep, you slipped into unconsciousness easier than ever before.

 

* * *

 

 

Since then, the douchebag has been meeting you nightly every day. The first time after you said yes to dating him, he had taken you to a generic dinner. And by generic, you mean not all generic because he took you to a fancy-ass restaurant and you felt supremely underdressed compared to everyone else there. He did tell you to wear something fancy, but after you told him you didn't _own_ anything fucking fancy, he said that you can wear whatever the fuck you wanted. And as if to console you, he wore street clothes just like you. So the two of you ended up being an odd pair that looked out of place in a sea of people in glittery dresses with shining jewelry and slick black tuxedos with shiny cufflinks. You appreciated it. But you never told him that directly. Actually, you actively avoided complimenting him on anything because the shit head would be an overly smug bastard about it and flaunt around his ego around you as if impressing you was somehow some noble achievement he needed everyone to know.

Even that was kind of endearing in of itself. That he actually seemed to value you when you feel like you have no value at all. When you were _told_ you had no value at all by the people in your past. He's spoiling you and you can't say that you're not enjoying it. But of course, you’d never admit your true feelings to him.

The two of you talked about the most inane things that didn't matter at all. You found out that he was the director for the overrated SBAHJ franchise and ranted to him at length about how fucking stupid they were despite the albeit clever metaphors, allegories, and veiled statements all disguised as meta humour about the country's current economics and politics. On the first film at least. And then you eviscerated him for the overratedness of the next films he's made on the film series and about how it doesn't make sense and doesn't shine a light to the first film. He had simply smiled at you and told you that for someone who said he hated the series, you pointed out a lot of the good qualities of it, though he does admit that he didn't actually mean anything and just made shit up after the first film's success. Others just speculated and assumed shit since the first film had so many easter eggs and jabs at politics. And anything that did seem to have meaning were just coincidences. But he still said that your analytical skills as a critic was on point and how you were the first person to tell him to his face how nonsensical the sequel films were when everyone else tried to pull meaning from it to try and impress him because everyone thought he was some eccentric artist, exposing the secrets of the rich and famous.

That made you fluster and flounder about how you still think the actual _quality_ of the film in how it was filmed was fucking atrocious and he told you that that had been intentional in the first place and the absurdity of it was meant to heighten the comedy. He said it was for the irony.

And then the two of you proceeded to school him on what the fuck irony is actually supposed to mean, all of which he hand waved and said that the act of calling something ironic despite the blatant fact that it isn't also counts as something ironic, thusly creating an irony paradox. You actually got fucking frustrated at him for this and you might have thrown a little tantrum that he had dubbed as ‘cute’. Which only fueled your anger and almost got kicked out of the restaurant for your loudness.

All of that while you ate your appetizers and main course. You've never felt so fucking bloated in your life and actually be happy about it. It’s been a long while since you ate this much to actually fulfil you. The food was amazing, and you know that he knows that you liked it despite not saying a damn word about it, so you kept silent and he didn't tease you about it.

During dessert in which you ordered a slice of velvet cake while he got himself a small serving of vanilla ice cream, the two of you got into another debate. It was more civilized this time around though and you actually enjoyed the discussion you had with him about literature cliches. He was surprised at your amount of knowledge on the topic and the apparent way you talked about it with passion, making you flustered for the second time that night.

You had casually told him you used to want to go into college as a literature major, but you knew that wasn't possible even back when you were a teenager. You had ended the conversation there for the night though before he can probe you even more about your past. He can learn about it at a later date somewhere more private.

You had gone home that night feeling pretty happy with the way things turned out. You didn't expect to enjoy talking to Strider this much, but you have to admit even to yourself that his witty if sometimes confusing and utterly nonsensical babbles ladened with shit pop culture reference and hidden innuendos, was charming to some extent. It certainly kept the conversation flowing between the two of you and it was entertaining for you to listen to the absurd twists he can take that utterly derails the whole topic onto something completely asinine.

It’s been a very long time since you enjoyed someone else's company this much on a date. A very long time since you went out on a date period, actually.

The second night he took you out, the two of you went to a bookstore. It was a surprise to you, but he said he wasn't an oblivious shit stain and actually thought about places you'd enjoy going to. After hearing you chatter on about literature so much and mentioning how you wanted to be a literature major, he figured going to a bookstore was a good bet on impressing you.

And it did. But you didn't tell him that either.

Each time you spend with him, you're learning more and more about him without the explicit need for words. How he's observant and listened intently to your words. How he's thoughtful enough to consider your own interests to make sure _you_ enjoyed your time with him. How he's really fucking good at this dating stuff and being a general gentleman to you. Who said chivalry was dead is a fucking liar.

It made your gut twist in wonderful ways to be treated like this. With so much care and attention, like you actually mattered to him. About how much he's sweeping you off your feet and hating him for how effective his actions are on you. Hating him simultaneously as liking him for making you actually start to _care_ about him and how he sees you.

The two of you chatted some more while you looked at books and he pretended to be interested in your interest despite looking bored out of his mind half the time. This time though, the two of you seemed to hold an actual, normal conversation about day to day things with sprinkles of your usual back and forth name calling and insults with him. It felt like you were just two normal people, hanging out and getting to know one another slowly.

It's easy to forget that he's paying Cronus with the supposed intention to have his way with you during the night. Which is technically true in a sense, but not in the usual way one would think with a phrase like that.

It was also the first time he bought something for you. When you found a book you particularly liked and he insisted on buying it for you.

Your nights went on and on and on like this.

On the third night, he took you out to the movies. He had given in and watched a romance movie with you after debating with him in front of the ticket seller for a few long minutes and the other customers were getting impatient with the two of you holding up the line.

The fourth night, he took you to an ice cream parlour where the two of you tried various exotic and weird ice cream flavours until your stomachs couldn't take it anymore.

On the fifth night, the two of you went for a stroll in the park where the two of you simply enjoyed each other's company in silence for the first time. It wasn't awkward and neither of you felt the need to fill the air with sound. Although you did find out then that Dave had a tendency to mutter and talk to himself a lot, something you laughed and teased him for.

Every night, he took you somewhere different and you got used to this new routine forming in your life. And although he would usually just spend an hour or two with you on your dates (sometimes more), you still end up thoroughly enjoying them nonetheless. He even sometimes visited you in your workplace during the day to get coffee since his table readings with his cast members on a new film he's producing was always held in the same place.

For once in your life, you could actually say you were fucking happy.

 

* * *

 

By this point, you stopped keeping count of how many nights you spent with him. Like clockwork, at seven in the evening, you would get a phone call from Ampora informing you of where you'll be meeting Dave again for the night. By this time, your little thing with Dave, whatever it is, has been going on for a solid month.

“Ya seriously got this guy hooked, Kar. I don't know what you did or what you're doin’ but good fuckin’ job. Keep up the good work.”

Right. You forgot. To Cronus, it looks like the two of you are fucking every night with the way your meetups are set up. You don't bother correcting him and simply got yourself dressed to meet up with Dave again for the night, finding yourself smiling unconsciously, before pulling back your scowl when you see yourself grinning dopily in the mirror. You actually look forward to your time with him.

The two of you had made a habit of meeting up at the Pearlescent hotel before heading out on whatever he has planned for you for the night. He never tells you where you're going or what he has planned for you that night or any other night. He always keeps things a secret, preferring surprising you with wherever he takes you. Most of the time, you are surprised. Pleasantly so. Dave doesn't take you to the normal date spots people would think to go to. Sure, he took you to a few dinners and a movie nights, but sometimes, he surprised you like he does now.

He's taken you to a bowling alley of all places.

Its corny and cringy, but after knowing him and dating him for a solid month, you're not surprised he would pick a spot like this. The asshole likes to bring up your long-standing debate with him about his ‘irony’ just to piss you off.

You had raised an eyebrow at him as he turned off the ignition to his fancy Ford pick up truck. “Seriously? What is this, the nineteen eighties?”

He flicked his shades down, red gaze meeting your own. “Of course you'd know what kind of dates were popular at which era. I know you like it when I take you to unconventional places for dates, Kitkat. You prefer this over the stale, overused cardboard cut out dates you'd typically see in the movies you hold so much praise for.” Was his quippy reply as he opened his door and slid out of the car. You quickly follow suit.

You rolled your eyes at him, but don't bother to argue against him. He seemed really and genuinely pleased with himself and it was kind of adorable to see on his usually passive face. He wasn't being a smug bitch about it either so you suppose you can let him have this one. Although you like being an asshole towards him, the two of you are technically dating. You don't have to be an asshole to him every time the two of you are together. Just most of the time.

He opened the door for you like he's always done whenever you enter an establishment. You always look at him with mild wonder and amusement at the fact that he insists on doing all of these romantic, chivalrous gestures for you just because he knows you like it despite not saying so. Sure, he likes to annoy the fuck out of you and push your buttons just to get a rise out of you to make you react and rant at him for his own entertainment. But at the same time, he puts effort into actually making you happy when you're out with him.

Your dynamic with him is strange but sweet nonetheless. He's as much of an ass to you as you are to him. But the two of you still share moments where either of you show little signs of why the two of you are dating in the first place. He complies to your daydreams of typical romanticism, while you give him signs of affirmation by staying quiet when he expects you to argue with him when he points out the fact that he is being inherently romantic with you and you're actually enjoying it. Neither of you needs to say it. You both just know, even just after a month of getting to know one another (the fact that you met up and hung out every night definitely helped).

What you're more surprised about really is after all this time, he hasn't made a move to ever touch you since the time he pulled you back from leaving the hotel prematurely. Although the two of you refer to your hangouts as ‘dates’, neither of you had really gone out and outwardly admitted to being ‘boyfriends’ either. The two of you are comfortable with keeping what the two of you have mostly labelless. It's not like the two of you need to prove it to anyone anyway.

The two of you enter the bowling alley. Dave signed the two of you in and rented out bowling shoes for both of you to use. When he found out about your shoe size, you had hit him in the head for calling it cute and told him to stop fetishizing your feet.

The bowling alley at night was actually fairly dimly lit. Not that it was hard to see anything, more like it was dark and was lit up by mostly neon lights all around the walls and along the bowling strip itself all the way to the glowing pins. The screens hanging from the ceilings that recorded scores was also a stark contrast to everything with how dark it was. You could still see everything just fine though. The soft lighting compared to the usually bright fluorescent lights is a welcome change of pace. There are a few people out tonight too, but it's mostly sparse around the establishment.

The two of you set up on the bowling strip Dave has paid for, throwing your jackets onto the chairs haphazardly.

“Have you ever bowled before, crabcakes?” He asked you casually as he moved to the small screen in front of the table to enter in his name. JOHN F KENNEDY blinks onto the column at the screen above your heads. The fucking douchebag named himself JFK. What the fuck.

You rolled your eyes at him. “If you're trying to be smooth so you can have an excuse to get up close and personal with me to ‘teach’ me the right form of how to bowl, I'll have to shatter your dreams, Strider. Of fucking course, I've gone bowling before. Who the fuck hasn't bowled at least once in their life?”

MARILYN MONHOE blinks onto the second column below the ridiculous name he's using for your first game. Jesus fucking christ why did you let him take control of what names to input on the goddamn computer?

“The real question is, when was the last time you went bowling? Because I can totally still help you out if you're out of practice.”

You pointedly glared at him when he glanced back at you with a smirk. “When was the last time _you_ went bowling, shit face?” You challenged back.

He raised a brow above those stupid shades he wore every fucking where. “Point taken.” He simply replied. You let yourself smile a small bit before dropping back to your signature scowl.

“Also, I can't fucking believe you're a goddamn nerd that has actually even _heard_ about the conspiracy theory that Marilyn had an affair with JFK.” You state, sitting back in your chair and letting yourself relax. Dave moved to take a bowling ball from the mechanism that spits them out right beside the start of the bowling strip.

He turns the small heavy thing around his hand for a bit, as if trying to get a right feel for its weight like he's some kind of expert bowler. “Well, you know about it too to know what I meant when I inputted the nicknames. So really, who's the nerd between us, Kittykat?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I bet you found out about it on some shitty top ten list video on youtube. You look like the kind of pretentious asshole that watches those kinds of videos before you go to sleep. Along with old somebody once told me memes compilations.”

“We've been hanging out for a month, babe.” He started, stepping up to the starting line in front of the bowling strip. He glanced back at you once. “You should _know_ that I’m exactly the kind of pretentious asshole that watches those kind of videos.” He flashed you a smirk. “Although, you're wrong on the second one. I prefer watching cats reacting to cucumbers after watching my nightly creepy top ten lists.”

He stepped back a few paces before doing a short running start and throwing the bowling ball down the lane. It slides sideways as it continues its way down the lane before knocking out half of the pins on the right side. “Also, seriously? Nerd? That's the tamest name you've ever called me in all my time knowing you, Kitkat.”

“What? Do you prefer being called a shitty lecherous moronic flea infested thunder fuck?” You said mockingly as he throws his second ball. He knocks down the rest of the pins except for two at the very edge. Eight points pop up on the screen.

He returns to your table as you sit up to take your turn. “There's the Vantas I've come to know for the past month. Where'd you go, buddy?”

You flick him hard on the forehead before taking your position. “Trying to get as far away as I can from you.” Was your smartass reply as you picked up a random bowling ball. Most of them were colourful tie-dye designs.

The two of you continue to banter back and forth like that, just the way the two of you usually do when you get together like this.

You play about three games of bowling before your third one got cut in half once the hour you rented the bowling lane for was up. Then, the two of you had just gotten food from the concession stand. He got you curly fries while he bought two slices of pizza for himself. Both of you preferred to have a bottle of water instead of fizzy drinks.

“So tell me a bit more about yourself. We spend all this time talking, ninety percent of which means nothing at all. I still don't actually know all that much about you, crabcakes.” He said after there was a lull in the conversation. You had been arguing about the validity of pineapples on pizza. Fucker said pineapples needed to remain five feet away from any pizza while you heavily objected at this claim.

You shrugged. “What is there to know? You know I'm a cranky fuck, I live in the stinky, anus part of the city in a shitty flat with an even shittier apartment owner, I work at a small but decent cafe, I like romance, and I wanted to be a romance author or an editor of it at some point in my life. Still kinda do, actually.”

“I mean. You never talk much about your past, bro. Hell, I even told you some of my embarrassing exploits in grade school like getting married to Karen Smith in front of the slides at grade three only to be divorced  because of my play pretend alcohol addiction, but you've never even mentioned what you were like as a kid.”

You pop a curly fry in your mouth, taking your time to chew and swallow it before you reply. “There's nothing to really know about me or my past. I guess I can tell you I have an older brother. He's a judgemental tumblr SJW piece of the worst shit in the world though and I don't talk to him unless I have to. I haven't contacted him for a solid year now and I'd really like for it to stay that way.”

He smiled at you as you continued to eat. “Well, I can relate to your problems of shitty older brothers then, dude. I guess we have that in common.”

Dave doesn't continue pressing you about your life before all of this. You know he can sense your discomfort about the topic and you know he's probably guessed correctly why you don't want to talk about it. Why you're doing what you do as a job directly correlates to your past and he can probably tell that you don't really like talking at any length about your job since the last time he said anything about it, you had lashed out. Then again, you have good reason to. He wasn't exactly subtle with his question and you don't like being made to feel judged by the desperate fuckass who stalked you after stealing from him while you gave him a blowjob.

“Why? What did your older brother do that was so shitty? I doubt it can beat Kankri in the douchiness department.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, visible above his aviators. “So there is someone higher than me on the Karkat douchiness meter? I feel offended that I'm not your number one special little asshole snowflake.” Smooth deflect. Guess both of you have issues with opening up. Or maybe it's just way too early for that heavy shit in your relationship. The two of you have never even agreed about what you are to each other aside from the fact that the two of you are officially dating. You don't actually know where you stand with Dave, just that he likes you enough to waste his time and effort on. Again though, Dave is the biggest dumbass you've met so.

“Don't worry your overinflated egotistical head, fuck face. The only douchebags that managed to be a bigger asshole than you are my shitty older brother and Cronus Ampora. You're still running in third place, asswipe. But if it makes you feel any better, you're the biggest fucking idiot I've ever met in my life and that's a pretty fucking amazing feat because I've met a lot of dumbasses in my life. But you manage to top all of those fuckers in the low common sense department, so good fucking job, Strider.”

He puts a hand on his chest and dramatically takes a gasp. “Oh, Mr. Vantas. I didn't know I meant this much to you. But I'm afraid I’m not ready to settle down and must turn down your proposal.” He said in a mocking high pitched female voice. You scoffed.

“If there's anybody who's going to be proposing in this relationship only to get brutally rejected, it'd be you.”

He smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “So you do admit that we've got a relationship going on, Vantas?”

You hate it when he fucking corners you like this. You really need to watch your filter more often and think about phrasing. You crossed your arms at him, glaring. “Like you said, we've been doing this shit for a solid month, dipshit. Of course, we'd have a relationship of some kind after forcing me to go on your little dates. Are you just a dumbass that doesn't know how relationships work? Actually, I shouldn't be surprised that you lack the two brain cells it takes to understand a simple concept.”

He steals from your small container of curly fries, but you slap his hand away and take another one for yourself. “How old are you by the way? You look like a fuckin midget, I can't exactly tell your age.” He questioned, smoothly changing the topic.

You raise a brow at him. “I'm twenty one. How fucking old are you?”

He shrugged. “Twenty six. Actually, the day I met you was my twenty-sixth birthday. You didn't know it at the time, but that blowjob was definitely the best gift I've gotten in the past five years.” He pulled his shades up to wink at you, and you're a little surprised when he keeps it up.

“You just managed to make me regret my life decisions once again, Strider. Thanks for the existential crisis I am now having with myself. That phone and wallet were not worth your excruciatingly painful company.”

“Are you bothered by it?” He asks instead, and you're caught a little off guard.

“By what?”

“The age gap. I'm five years older than you.” He said nonchalantly, but you're pretty sure he's actually concerned about whether your comfortable with him or not. It's fucking cute. It shouldn't be, but it is. Fuck everything.

You refuse to acknowledge that rogue thought you just had.

“I don't really give a shit. Five years isn't all that much if you really think about it. There are others that have a solid ten year age gap between them. Plus, just because you're past twenty-one, that awkward phase of life where you make the shittiest decisions in life because you're new to adulthood, doesn't make you _old_. You're in your prime. Old enough to have some life experiences, but still young enough to do the typical shit you did as a teenager. But honestly, I think you never grew out of that phase in the first place so I can be wildly wrong about this. But it's generally true to most adults.”

Without those stupid shades on, you can clearly see the amusement in his face, side smile shining in his eyes. You avert your eyes, unable to meet his crimson gaze. They look far too genuine than you're comfortable with.

“I think that’s the first compliment you've ever given me, Kitkat. I better write this down in my diary so I can reread it again and again and treasure it for the rest of my life.”

You screw your face up in a look of disgust. “You're fucking creepy, Dave.”

The two of you continue to talk for a little while longer, finishing your curly fries. You let him have the last two pieces since you're feeling particularly generous today.

Once you're both finished, you stand up and you both slip on your jackets. Both of you move to the lobby with the little cubbies where you left your shoes in. You changed out of the rented shoes and slip into your own boots while Dave returned them to the front desk.

Then, both of you head out for the door and down the parking lot to where he parked. The two of you stay silent, it's comfortable despite being rare between the two of you.

You think he walks a little closer to you this time around.


	7. I Like You And You Like Me, It's Not Complicated

Fifteen. You feel like you're fifteen again when you were nursing a terrible crush for one of your best friends since grade school. Every interaction is played again in your memory, and you're always excited to see him again. You try to keep your over-enthusiasm out of your face though, at worst, it might creep him out that you're so into him and he's not that into you. At the least, he'll just make fun of you for it and never let you live it down.

In the past month, you've been seeing him at nights routinely, your mood has changed slightly. A change that definitely did not go unnoticed by your sister, with her sharp skill in analyzing you and cross-examining your psyche (against your will) for years. Even the smallest change in what type of shoes you wear doesn't go under Rose's radar.

Since you've been seeing him, you've been a little more spacey than you'd really like to admit. Not that your co-workers or staff members really notice, you've always played as the aloof sort of person that tunes someone out as soon as they've lost your attention. Everybody was used to having to repeat shit at you because you're a, too busy multitasking something to really pay attention to what the person said, or b, you don't care enough about others opinions and words just go through from one ear and out the other. You're an asshole. You can admit that much.

But being even moderately distracted around Rose? She picks up on that shit like a fucking bloodhound, it's kind of terrifying. Exactly your whole reason for always staying alert around her, making sure you listen to her words so she doesn't loop around your logic to her liking and con you into doing things you don't want to. The conniving snake.

And on your weekly brunch with your sister, something she got you to do after twisting your words and your mind around to get you to accept the offer, Rose wastes no time in bringing up this sudden and small change in your behaviour.

“I'm assuming you've found him? You never did give me an update on how that particular endeavour of yours turned out.” She casually shoehorns it into your perfectly innocent chat about your strange humour with incestuous jokes in a poor attempt to make her uncomfortable and annoy the shit out of her. Unfortunately for you, Lalonde is as unaffected by your antics as you are with hers after all these years knowing one another.

You had rolled your eyes at her, making sure you make it known by your subtle head motion despite your shades that hid your eyes. “I don't have to report my life to you every week, Lalonde. You're not my mom.”

“And I'm glad I'm not, I would've given you up for adoption a long time ago.” She retorted back at you, smile poisonously sweet. “But what are these brunches for if not to catch up with one another from time to time? Is it wrong for me to take interest in my dear brother's life? Would you rather cut me out of your life entirely?”

As insufferable as she can get, you really do appreciate her putting up with your bullshit. You'd only ever joke about hating her enough to cut her off from your life, but you'd never in a million years ever think that you're capable of that. Not because she'll just keep invading your life whether you like it or not. But because you actually don't want her to just stop being in your life. She's the only person you can completely confide to about almost anything, with no judgement at all if you really needed it. But goddamn her for playing this card to get you to talk. You know you would've eventually anyway. You want to talk to someone about Karkat. Just the way she coaxes it out of you infuriates you to no end.

But then again, your mindless rambling probably gets to her as much as she does to you so you guess that balances everything out. 

“Yeah, I did manage to find him.” You grumbled under your breath, taking a bite from the buttery garlic bread that came with your lasagne.

“And how exactly did you manage that?” She prompted you when you refused to offer up any more information than the one you've given.

“He works for this shady knock-off grease character. I made an appointment with him for the night and things went from there.” Rose actually looked partially surprised at your insinuation as she sipped on her teacup. “No, we didn't do _that_. I'd never stoop that low, Rose, what the fuck. I’m genuinely interested in him so I asked him out.” You're quick to add before she can make some snarky remark about you hiring a prostitute for the night.

Still, she raised a suspicious brow at you. “How did that turn out? From what I can remember of your story about your drunken exploits on your twenty-sixth birthday, he didn't exactly share the same sentiment as you at the time.”

You let yourself smile a little conspiratorially. “He was an ass about it.” You said before shrugging. “But we talked and when I asked him again, he said yes.”

Again, with the suspicious eyebrow raise. Like she's trying to figure out whether you were bullshitting her or not. But she knows your tells when you lie, and it seems she's having a hard time believing that you actually managed to do this without making a spectacular mess of things. 

You're pretty baffled yourself, you know your tendency to fuck everything up is unusually higher than average. Considering everything and the absurdity of your meeting with him, it actually went far more smoothly than you expected. At most, you thought you would have to do what you did several times to convince him to go on a single date with you. Strangely enough, that's not the case. It makes you wonder what he was thinking at the time or what he genuinely thought about you. He's still as much a mystery to you as when you first met him.

But here you are you. Already a couple of dates in that you think went somewhat smoothly.

“He said yes to dating you?” She clarified, setting her teacup down.

You shrug. “He said yes to a date with me. And we've continued to go in one every night so I guess you can say we're dating. I'm… Not actually sure what's his stance on the whole thing is. For being so emotive, I don't actually know if he even likes me back as much as I like him. But he likes me enough to keep me around. So I'm fine with things being unlabelled right now. Not that I ever think we ever would need one just to feel validated.”

She nodded at you, finishing the last bit of her pasta. “You seem to be happy. So I guess this could be a positive influence on you. Plus, it's nice to see you actually taking interest in someone else not just for their aesthetic appearance, but for what they actually are as a person.”

“I mean, don't get me wrong, he's entertaining as fuck and I love being around him, but he's pretty fuckin hot too.” You said with a smirk that earns a halfhearted eye roll from Rose.

“It's better than you hopping from one person onto another carelessly.” She replied softly, finishing her tea. “I suppose you'll be seeing him again tonight?”

You nod, finishing up the garlic bread before moving onto your actual brunch. Rose has been eating her pasta slowly, taking the time to talk to you. “Yeah. I plan on taking him to that old diner you and I used to frequent with John and Jade in our high school years. He's being all mysterious and shit and he won't tell me all that much about his life though. Thought I'd bring him somewhere that actually holds some significance and memory.”

Rose nodded slowly. “You'll have to bring him around for me to meet sometime. Perhaps a double date with my dear Kanaya?” She offered with a sweet sly smile. Well, not offer. You know she'll arrange the date whether you say yes or no and you'd have to still go.

You thought about it for a bit nonetheless. You haven't actually thought about bringing Karkat along anywhere to meet your friends or whether you want him to meet them. But then again, that's a natural step if you want him to be a part of your life, right? You're not sure if he feels the same way though since it kind of makes things official if you introduce him to the people of your life, and you're not sure about how he feels to being introduced as your actual boyfriend because the two of you are _technically_ dating. You'll have to ask. So, for now, you offer another shrug.

“Maybe. I'll have to see what he has to say about it.” You tell her as she raised a curious brow at her. You roll your eyes again, knowing her next question, and answer her before she even asks it. “And no, it's not me having second thoughts about having some form of permanent relationship because of some bullshit thing you've determined on me about my crap childhood and inability to my make proper, healthy relationships because of it through your insistent psychoanalysis of my psyche. I don't mind the idea of being with him more than just the typical flings I've had in the past. Shit, I don't think I could ever get bored of the guy even if he wasn't being a mysterious brooding bad boy batman type. But I'm not sure he exactly feels the same way about me like that. Whether he's ready to make it official and a serious thing.”

She actually looks pleasantly surprised by your statement and you feel a sort of annoyance than your usual sibling rivalry because she genuinely thought you weren't capable of doing something like openly _caring_ about other people. To her, she still sometimes sees you as the broken sixteen-year-old with a broken home and an even more broken sense of self, numb and unattached to the world. And it really irks you sometimes that she still sees you as a kid.

You've come far from where you were in the span of the last decade. Sure, you may have trouble communicating exactly what you mean, still have a habit of beating around the bush and stalling using as many metaphors and unnecessary pop culture references as you can cram in a single run-on sentence, but you get there eventually. You don't shut down like you used to at attempts to make you feel and admit them out loud. And sure, you still think being overly affectionate or emotional is still not your forte, nor are you completely comfortable with your genuine feelings being in the spotlight for all to see, but you can at least admit to someone that you sincerely like them when you're with them. You can admit to having human emotions and caring about someone else to people you trust like Rose. So it irritates you that she still has such low expectations of you.

But then again, the two of you weren't as close as you were in your youth. You don't have to rely on her to help you regulate your emotions nor give you advice when it came to feelings and emotions and how to handle them anymore. And with your line of work, along with hers, the two of you live busy lives. The reason this weekly brunch was even made was exactly because of this reason so the two of you don't float away from each other too much. You don't get to see each other in the past few years. And you've learned to live your life without her help. But she wasn't exactly there to witness it in the first place. So you guess it makes some sort of sense that she still sees you as the aloof asshole that needs to be told how to do things properly in the ‘real world’. You needed her a lot back then. But you don't anymore. She'll figure it out soon enough though. She's a Lalonde after all.

“I suppose that makes sense. Fine. Take your time, but you absolutely need to let me meet him some time. I'm curious to meet him in person with what you've told me.” She smiled at you, but it’s softer this time. “I want to know the person who's finally captured my brother's heart.” She said afterwards, the smile turning into a more playful one and you can't help but roll your eyes.

The two of you continued to converse, moving past the Karkat topic. She asked you about how the new movie you've been assigned to direct is going and in return, you ask her about the progress of her second book on her second series, still set in her original hit of a trilogy. You don't know when sexy wizards took the place of sexy vampires, but then again, you're not a sixteen-year-old girl who makes it her job to be up to date on the latest trends so she can appear cool to her other friends with how much she knows about useless pop culture gossips.

Eventually, the two of you finish your brunch and Rose texts her new girlfriend to pick her up while the two of you got some dessert to finish off the meeting.

You wave her off as she slipped into the sleek, forest green Corvette. You stuck around a bit more, thinking over the things you had just talked about.

You'll give it some more time before you ask him about it.

 

* * *

 

You had taken him to the local bowling alley and you had tested the waters, see what he thought about the two of you. You probably weren't as subtle as you thought you were, but Rose's offer has been in your mind for a while. You do want him to meet your friends, and see how he'll react to them. Especially to John and Jade. You have no doubts that he'll hate them upon first meeting them considering what you know of him and what you know of your two other good friends.

So this night, you had taken him somewhere more quiet to discuss it with him.

And he's staring at you like you're fucking stupid again. You quirk a brow up at him, patting down the blanket you had brought. “What?”

“What the fuck are you doing.” He said more than ask.

“Isn't it obvious, dude? We're having a nighttime picnic.” You reply easily.

The snow had been unstable in the past few days. Sometimes, it snows hard enough that the white fluff is actually able to pile up from the ground. Other times, it won't snow at all and the previous snow melts until there wasn't even a trace of it snowing. It's still cold, sure, but nothing you can't handle after living in this city for so long.

Today happens to be a particularly dry evening, with just a light chill wind passing by every now and then. You're both fine as long as you both keep your coats on. So you thought today would probably be the only perfect day for the two of you to have a picnic up at an old lookout point a little outside of the city.

Your truck is parked right behind the two of you, just a little out of the road. A few trees lined each side of you, but the fairly flat hill you're on is basically bare of any forest trees until you really get to the bottom of it. The field is mostly unobstructed for you to have a good view of the city skyline and the stars twinkling above, shining brighter since the two of you are fairly out of the city's light pollution.

Once you smoothen out the blanket and make sure it stays in place with heavy objects at the edges you glance up at Karkat who's still standing around, still looking at you’re a dumbass. Meaning he's glaring at you like he usually is.

“Come sit down, dude. The blanket doesn't bite.” You tell him, patting the spot down next you. “I'll just go get the shit I prepared for this romantic endeavour.”

He rolled his eyes at you but finally moved to take a seat down on the blanket, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on top of it. You smiled before standing up to retrieve the bag from the back of your truck.

You returned to your spot beside him, setting the bag down in front of you. You had prepared some small snacks for both of you to enjoy. Just pastries in plastic containers from the local bakery. You pulled out some of them, cookies of a variety, stacking the containers on top of one another in between the two of you. He watched you with curious grey eyes, looking so much like a child in awe. It’s highly distracting to you, eyes flicking to glance at his face every few seconds. Thank god your shades conceal your gaze.

There are also small pecan pies neatly set beside one another, along with cream puffs, brownies, macaroons and small donuts. You didn't know what he liked so you got as many different types as you can. You also brought fruits to clean out your palette if you get sick of the sweet desserts.

And one last thing you brought… Expensive wine from Roxy herself along with two glasses for the two of you to use. You also bring some water bottles if he didn't feel like drinking.

His eyes seemed to widen at the revelation of alcohol before raising a brow at you. You grinned at him. “C' mon, this has got to be making you feel some type of way with how sickly romantic this whole set up is. Secluded hill along a mountain, a picnic with sweets, some wine with a view of the city and the full moon above… Generic romance movie type of date. Admit it, you like it.”

And to your surprise, he bites his lower lip and ducks his head down before averting his gaze away from you, a light dusting of red on his cheeks. He looks almost bashful. And it makes your heart come skip as excitement ran through you, unable to keep the grin from your face.

It sends a strange thrill through you to be able to pull a reaction like that from him. So different from his usual snappy personality. You like getting to see a new, hidden side of him. You want to be the only one to see it.

He doesn't answer you, simply staying quiet. And you don't say anything either, not wanting to disturb the strange, vulnerable air around the two of you.

Karkat reached for one of the containers, ripping off the tape that keeps it closed. He picked up the cream puffs, an unexpected choice. Then again, what were you expecting?

You rummage through the bag some more before finally finding the cork opener. You begin to open the first bottle, taking one of the glasses and pouring yourself a drink. Karkat clinks his glass with yours, a silent request that you pour some for him too.

The two of you stay silent, with you sipping your wine and with him eating the pastries you brought and occasionally drinking as well. You glance over at him. It seems like you've been doing a lot of that lately, finding yourself staring and taking note of everything about him, whether he knew it or not. There's something magnetic about him that always brings your eyes to him.

He’s always hunched over, making him smaller than he’d actually be if he sat up straighter (even though he'd still be small compared to you). There are always dark circles under his eyes and his eyebrows are pulled in a near constant angry expression. Resting bitch face has never been a more accurate description of Karkat.

You watch his fingers idly pick up pieces of the cream puffs, and moving it to his lips, popping the whole thing into his mouth and chewing slowly, as if savouring the taste of each one. His fingers are thin and slender and you really want to hold it against your own. You can't take your eyes off of him as he methodically eats, and you find your eyes lingering on his lips. At the realization of this, you quickly look away, feeling the heat creep up your neck already in embarrassment

What the fuck are you, a lovesick idiot? Gazing longingly like some poor sap in a romance movie and thinking thoughts as petty as interlacing your fingers around his own, and sharing his warmth, and pulling him close, and feeling his breath on your skin, and chasing away the cold when you-

Fuck.

You almost choke on your drink as you took a sip, covering your mouth with your hand as you coughed. Karkat's head snaps to you, face displaying genuine concern. “Jesus fucking Christ, Strider. Are you okay? Did you seriously just choke on a bit of wine?”

He had put a hand on your shoulder. It was warm and it spreads through from where he was touching you. The fact that it's the first time either of you had ever really touched one another in any capacity is so distracting to you, you completely miss what he's saying staring at his hand. When he realized you were staring, he's quick to retract his hand as if he had just been burnt.

You glance up at him, finding him holding his hand close to his chest and avoiding looking in your direction. “Sorry. That was weird. Fuck, why am I so fucking weird? With how you've been avoiding touching me, I should've gotten the big blocky letters saying ‘DO NOT CROSS’ but apparently, I'm a gigantic blind dumbass and crossed it anyway. Of course, why the fuck would you ever even want to touch someone like me? I'm fucking disgusting and you're probably just taking me out to these dates and spoiling me with all of this shit out of pity. Fuck, I'm so fucking stupid, I should've known. I did fucking know but I just always fuck my life up for myself in the most spectacular ways like the failure of a human being that-”

“Dude, it's okay.” Jesus Christ, he can run his mouth at lengths about self-deprecation that can almost rival your own when you're nervous or embarrassed. You made a point of putting your own hand on his shoulder, and he stares at it with wide eyes before staring back at you. You see another light flush rising to his face.

You let your hand linger for as long as you dare before lifting your hand and retracting slowly. “It's okay, I just didn't expect it. I mean- I didn't want to be an asshole and just assume things and get into your personal space just because we're ‘dating’ or whatever. You clearly have some issues with unexpected touches and I didn't want a repeat of what I did on our second night meeting. I was just waiting for you to initiate it or something, I don't know.” You explained, muttering quietly and you curse yourself because he probably barely even heard have of what you said.

 

He shifted a little closer to you, something you definitely didn't expect, even more, surprised when he puts his hand over yours almost hesitantly. He doesn't look at you and he doesn't say anything at all.

You don't need him to.

You swallowed thickly and looked out to the city, shifting your hand so you can hold his properly. Both of you avoid looking at each other and its painfully awkward, like the two of you were shy, inexperienced teenagers again, wading and testing through boundaries of your first relationship. But despite the heavy silence that hangs between you, the rustling of leaves the only sounds filling the space between the two of you, neither of you lets go of the other's hand.

His hand is warm in yours, a comforting sensation against the cold temperature of the outside.

After some time of even more painful silences, you finally cleared your throat, catching his attention. You glance at him sideways from your shades before looking back out at the sky. “I was wondering if you were up for going on a date outside of our little meetings. What do you think?”

“Sure. Why the fuck not? Might as well since we have been doing whatever ‘this’ is for a solid month now so…” His voice trailed off and it pulled your gaze back towards him.

He’s staring at the blanket beneath the two of you, picking on a loose thread in his sweater. His expression is its usual angry frown, but it looks like he's thinking hard about something. It brings a smile to your face.

“Right. My sister wanted to meet you, like the nosey bitch that she is, and I can't really stop her… So I was wondering if you were up for going to a double date with her and her own girlfriend…?” His face snaps up to meet your gaze. His frown slowly shifted to one of amusement.

“You have a sister? How many siblings do you actually have, Strider?” He asked and it seems like the fact that the two of you are holding hands is already forgotten. But you're still painfully aware of his soft grasp around your hand.

“Three, technically. But I really only consider two of them as my actual relatives.” You tell him. “So, is that a yes or a no? I need to know, man. Before she sends a detective after you to find out more about you in her own way.”

He grinned. “The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? Does stalking just run in your family, Strider?” He said in a playful mocking manner.

You rolled your eyes. “You're avoiding the question, crabcakes.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't really give a shit as long as you feed me free food.”

“Just a heads up though, so you know what you're getting into. Rose is a bit… Eccentric in some ways. She might ask some personal or invasive questions as her subtle approach to getting into someone's psyche and psychoanalyzing them. She may make you uncomfortable and I'm really sorry in advance about that.”

He raised a brow at you again, amusement definitely seeping of his expression. “And you only decide to warn me after I've already agreed to go?” He deadpans. “You're an asshole.” He stated, shaking his head at you.

You had simply grinned at him. “One hundred percent, babe. Should've read the fine print before signing onboard the Strider train.”

He rolled his eyes. “I did, but I'm here anyway, aren't I?” He froze up once again as soon as the words left his lips and you watch him fidget even more with his sweater. Your heart halted in your chest for a solid moment at the insinuation of his words. “Anyway, where and when is this shitty double date happening anyway? So I can properly clear my schedule.” He added quickly, changing the topic without a stutter in his voice.

You swallowed thickly again, shrugging. “Dunno. I'll have to ask Rose. Speaking of which, I can't believe I still don't have your number. I can text you the details when I talk it through with her.”

Karkat sighed and rolled his eyes, but you can tell he's not actually irritated at you. He fished his phone from his pocket, scrolling through before handing it to you. The screen showed you his phone number and you quickly pulled your own phone from your coat pocket without ever letting go of his hand. Which was a bit awkward, but you managed.

You inputted his phone number into your phone, nicknaming his contact as ‘crabcakes’ as expected.

Once that's done with and you hand him back his phone, the same silence as before descends back upon the two of you. But it's less chokingly awkward, his hand in yours feeling almost natural.

The two of you continue to sip your wine and eat the spread of sweets you brought. In the end, the two of you are only able to eat almost half of what you had to offer and got through a bottle and a half of wine before you both decided it was time to go back.

He helped you clean up, the tranquil silence continuing all the way until the two of you finally pile back into the car. The ride back was relatively quiet as well, but that may just be because Karkat actually looks pretty exhausted already, constantly yawning in the passenger seat. You find his sleepy expression far too adorable, but you don't call attention to it. He'll actively try to avoid making the same face despite his weariness just to spite you.

When you made it back to his apartment, the two of you say your goodbyes. And you'd like to think that his hesitation to turn away from you is because he actually wants to stay in your company some more. But in the end, he waves you goodbye as he disappeared into his apartment complex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so fucking sorry I stopped updating :') I actually have 12 chapters finished, but I kinda stopped writing and I didn't want to post a chapter because I like having a couple extras to post. Which kind of actually defeats the purpose of having extras in the first place... But I'm back to writing :') Hopefully I can finish this bitch. Yeet.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I am only now realizing how dialogue-heavy this fic is. Whoops.


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